Beyond a Shadow of a Doubt
by Historybuff
Summary: Assuming that Uncle Charlie had left Santa Rosa without making his final attempt on young Charlie's life, what might have happened between the niece and uncle who at one point in their lives were so attached to one another? Based on the Hitchcock film.
1. Chapter 1

**_Chapter 1_**

"Go away… Go away, Uncle Charlie!"

The scornful, passionate voice of young Charlotte Newton rang through his mind over and over again. At times, it sounded dark and mellow, as though she had resigned herself to a life without him; yet at other times, he swore he heard her pitch rise in excitement, as though perhaps she sincerely reveled in the thought of his departure. What did she want from him? Certainly, she could not truly wish he would go. After all, he was Uncle Charlie… suave, charming Uncle Charlie whom she had adored from infancy.

"Go away or I'll kill you myself… You see… That's how I feel about you."

No, it was not true. She would never be able to commit a foul crime against humanity such as murder. That act was reserved for the most sinister, twisted individuals… like him.

40-year-old Charles Oakley, sat up with a jerk, suddenly quite out of breath. He turned from side to side, trying to find his glass of water in the dark. At last he felt it, sitting on his nightstand. He shakily lifted it to his lips and drank its contents. Why did he keep having these dreams? No, they weren't just dreams. He smiled bitterly at the irony of it. He was the monster, yet years after his final departure from Santa Rosa little Charlie Newton was giving her Uncle Charlie nightmares.

But what was causing these chilling dreams? And what did they signify? They were not real dreams with any distinct storylines. They were filled with voices. Her voice. She had said those exact words on their last meeting, yet they did not affect him then nearly as much as they did now. What was to become of him if these subconscious distractions persisted? He would obviously go quite out of his mind… relatively speaking.

Even in his most frustrated moment, Charles could not deny the fact that she had had every right to say what she did. He had felt desperate and confused. So he resorted to what he knew best: murder. Cold…heartless… unidentifiable murder. After all, who would have ever connected him with her death? It would be an accident, whether she had broken her neck after falling down the stairs or _accidentally _poisoned herself with car exhaust in the garage. He did not want to murder _her_, even in his highest moments of insanity and panic. She had only been a witness, someone who knew him for what he really was. He never wished to kill his own, sweet little Charlie. He wanted to dispose of the witness to his crimes.

Yet, how could he have felt that way? Was she not the one source of joy in his dark, dismal world? Had he really ever been willing to destroy his one and only pleasure? It seemed like pure masochism to him now.

Yes, he certainly loved her more than anything in the world. Even now, knowing that she despised him and hoped to never set sight on him again, he felt a deep affection for her, incomparable to any love he had ever felt before.

In years past, she had often said that there was a form of telepathy between them. He was far too cynical to accept such an idea… And yet… Could there be a reason why he kept hearing her distressed voice plaguing his sleep every night? Such thoughts made it impossible for him to sleep. Generally, such thoughts made it impossible for him to function at all.

When, he left Santa Rosa, he vowed that he would commit no more crimes, as much as he desired it. Now that the other deceased suspect was held liable for his murders, he could not afford to be tied in to any other cases. It was far too high a risk. He could not allow himself to be placed in the power of the law. If they found him guilty, they would lock him up like an animal. Or worse… they could take away the one part of him that was entirely in his own possession… his very life. Oh, how they would love to do so! He could not give them that sort of satisfaction. If he sometimes felt the impulse to do away with certain older, useless human beings, it would have to remain an unfulfilled desire. This had been his method of thinking for years now, ever since he departed from his hometown, leaving his niece to despise him.

Charles glanced towards the clock on his nightstand. It was only three in the morning, yet he knew that there was no way he could rest any longer. This being the case, he climbed out of his bed and put on a thick, velvet bathrobe. He crossed the room and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He shuffled through several insignificant articles of clothing until he found that for which he had been searching.

She was a dear girl, he thought to himself, absentmindedly running a finger over the bright smile of her picture. Who would think by looking at her that she was the very thought that tormented him for days, sometimes weeks at a time? There was no use talking to anyone about it. After all, if he went to a doctor, he would have to tell him everything… including the truth about his own notorious past. In a way, he was imprisoned, just like the lowlifes forced to live out their days in a cell. And his niece had now become his judge and executioner, for certainly this mental strain would lead to his demise if he did not do _something_ to fix it.

How old would she be now? he asked himself. He had been 13 years of age when she was born. Sometimes he could hardly even remember how old he was. If he was 40, that would make her… 27? No, that couldn't be. She would never be that old to him. She was his darling, precious girl. If she were 27, she would be an adult, not just his little Charlie. He wished he could relive those years, when he was young. Though he ran away from home at 16 and did not return for many years, he always felt a strong attachment to his sister Emma. And despite their age difference, Charlie had always been his sweetest confidante. That was, of course, until their last meeting.

Perhaps she wanted him to come to her. After all, whenever he received these feelings in the past, he ended up being correct. Of course, in the past, he had still been her Uncle Charlie, and she was still his sweet, loving niece. Was it all so very different now? But of course it was. He couldn't expect her to ever need or want him again, after he nearly caused her death. It made perfect sense to him… mentally, anyway.

As he boarded the train in Santa Rosa, two years earlier, he could not detach his eyes from her, until the train was too far away for him to see anything of Santa Rosa at all. He waited, hoping that perhaps she would say or do something. He craved any sign of emotion, yet she showed none. Perhaps she really did not need him after all.

And yet, in the darkest, most painful hours of the early morning, he could not deny his craving to see Charlie, his most beloved niece, once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

Charlie Newton stretched across her bed, deep in thought. She was not entirely certain what was wrong with her, yet some trouble seemed to be brewing in her mind. Her mother was quite certain it was just the beginning of the flu, yet she was not convinced of this.

Her mother, Emma Newton quietly knocked at her door.

"Come in," Charlie said quietly, directing her gaze towards the door.

"How are you, Charlie? Still not feeling better?" Her mother placed a hand on her forehead, concerned.

"I'm all right, mother. I just… don't know what's wrong with me. I've been feeling strange for weeks."

"And you're quite certain it's not the flu? Have you seen the doctor yet? I'm fairly sure that the flu has been going about lately."

"No, mother. It's not that. It's more of a… an emotional illness." Her mother smiled warmly and patted her arm in realization.

"Oh dear, that's probably just because you're in love!" Charlie sat up straight at this.

"In love? With whom?"

"Well, Jack- I mean, Mr. Graham of course!" At this, her mother smirked playfully. Charlie tried her best to suppress a groan.

"Oh, yes. I mean… no. That is… Well, I like Jack very much, but… I don't think I'm in love. I told him right from the beginning that I only wanted to be his friend. At least for a while."

"Well, it's been two years since then, dear!" Charlie turned her head towards her mother, her complexion growing pale.

"Really? Has it been two years?" Her voice was beginning to grow faint.

"Yes, it certainly has. I remember you met him right around the time that your Uncle Charlie came here. Oh, what a nice time that was! Wasn't it just wonderful, dear?"

"Yes, of course… Wonderful." Charlie's tone was somewhat less than convincing. Emma began to frown and stared at her daughter for several moments.

"Darling, is there something troubling you? Something you want to tell anyone?"

Charlie glanced about and began to fidget with the hem of her dress. "No… No I don't need to talk about anything. Perhaps I just need some rest."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it." At this, Emma rose and placed a light kiss on her daughter's forehead. "If you want anything, dear, just tell me." Charlie did not reply, but crawled under her quilt and listened as her mother closed the door behind her.

If only she could tell someone the truth. She yearned to do so, yet knew she mustn't. After all, what would that do to her mother, knowing that her dear brother had been a serial killer?

As much as she wished to block him out completely, Charlie could not help thinking about him. And lately, he seemed to be on her mind constantly. Perhaps this was due to the fact that she was spending so much time with Jack. As her mother said, she had met Jack when Uncle Charlie last visited. What her mother didn't know was that Jack was really a detective, trying to gather evidence against her uncle. This being the case, how could she help connecting the two men?

She did have great admiration for Jack. She even loved him, she supposed. But she never felt the desire to marry him or build any life with him. Who could create a future for themselves that was based on a horrifying memory? Jack was her dearest friend now and that was really all she ever wanted. Even with Jack, Charlie often reminisced over the days when she had her real dearest friend with her.

What had become of him? Was he dead or alive? Was he still committing his terrible crimes? If so, had he ever been caught and convicted? For a while, he sent her mother letters, as she had asked him to. But within a few months, the letters eventually stopped coming. Charlie could tell that her mother was greatly disappointed by this. Yet Charlie knew it was truly for the best. He needed to stay as far from her family as possible. She had originally hoped when he left that he would gradually depart from her mind. For a while, it seemed as though this was beginning to happen.

She knew what was causing her illness, and it certainly was not the flu. She stood from her bed and slowly moved towards her vanity table. She opened a drawer and pulled out two items. One, of course, was that old picture her mother had given her. He was simply a beautiful little boy. Though she had tried on several occasions to destroy the picture, she never had been able to depart from it. After all, it was the only picture she would ever have of him. And in it, he seemed so small, sweet and innocent. It was her Uncle Charlie, not the monster who had tortured her on their last meeting. No, she admitted that she would never detach herself from this picture.

Placing the photo back in the drawer, she began to exam the other item, unfolding it delicately. It was a letter from Jack, about two pages in length. He had just given it to her the week before. In it, he claimed that he would never be able to love anyone besides her. According to its contents, he absolutely needed her for a wife.

She tossed the letter back in the drawer, suddenly feeling contempt for it. Perhaps some girls appreciated such sappy spew, but she simply was not one of them. After all, it was nothing that he hadn't said two years before when he hardly even knew her. She couldn't understand what would have possessed him to open his heart to her at the time. If anyone knew the sort of trouble she was in, it should have been him. Yet all he cared about at the time were his own sentimental feelings. His lack of propriety was becoming more and more wearisome to her.

She often wondered what it was that she wished to gain in life. It seemed that having a husband and children was not her objective. And unlike her sister Ann, she really had no desire to become the most intelligent person in her small town. Maybe that was it. Maybe she needed to experience life away from the small town setting. It couldn't be quite as bad as her uncle made it sound. But how could she ever leave her family? She could not depart from them quite so freely as her uncle had when he was younger. And where would she go? If situations were different, she would have no scruples against staying with him. But as it was, she would never see him again.

She sighed once more as she closed the drawer and crossed to the window, an expression of melancholy tainting her features. She would _never_ see him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

At 7:30 on a Saturday evening, Mr. Jack Graham sat on the sofa of the Newton's living room, waiting for his date to join him. After about ten minutes, Charlie came down the stairs sprightly and approached him. He quickly stood, being sure to give her a few nervous words of praise for her comely appearance before they departed from the house.

"Where are we going?" Charlie asked as Jack opened the front door for her.

"Well, I was thinking we might try that new restaurant at the corner of 11th and Ripley."

"All right. That sounds fine." As they approached an intersection, Jack made sure to hold her arm and led her along. He was always doing little things like that. Why did he always feel the need to hold her? Though she tried to be patient, she was finding him to be exceedingly exasperating as of late. She understood why he acted this way, but she still could not help feeling frustration. "Do you think it might be crowded?"

"Oh no, Love. I'm sure it will be fine. I have a reservation." _Love…_Why did he always call her _Love_? She certainly did not reciprocate the feeling (at least not in the way he felt it) and loathed it when he gave her these sweet little pet names.

"Reservations? And what if I had said I didn't want to go to the new restaurant?" She was joking with him now… sort of.

He smiled at her good-humoredly. "I guess I just would have canceled it. Come, it's this way." Yes, yes. She knew how to get to the corner of 11th and Ripley. It wasn't that difficult. She had lived here her entire life. He had only been visiting Santa Rosa for two years.

He opened the door and waited for her to go in the restaurant before he did so. A waiter quickly approached and asked if they had a reservation. After quietly speaking to Jack for a moment, the waiter smiled cheerfully and led them to a pretty table, set with a crisp tablecloth and maroon candles glowing brightly. Jack pulled out her chair for her as she glanced about the place.

"This is a beautiful spot, Jack. I didn't need anything this nice. If I had known what it was like, I would have dressed up."

"You look beautiful just as you are," he whispered, grinning warmly. She stared down at her hands, not entirely certain how she should respond. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Charlie…"

"Jack, please. I-"

"No. Just let me speak… Last week, when I gave you that letter… I was sort of hoping that you might have an answer for me. Naturally, I didn't want to pressure you. But… I need an answer, Charlie. I can't think straight as it is. I need to know if you could possibly ever love me as much as I do you."

"Jack…" she moaned hesitantly. "I think you already know the answer to that." He frowned and gradually pulled his hand away.

"Well… is there something wrong with me? Am I not good enough for you? What is it, Charlie? I need to know. I can change if I have to."

" Jack! Listen to yourself. I don't want you to change. I adore you just as you are. But I've told you dozens of times. I just can't think of you that way. You know why. If the situation were different, maybe-"

"Oh please! Spare me!" She quickly turned her head towards him, startled by his irritable tone. "What does it matter anymore? It's been two years. So, I tried to arrest your beloved uncle. I'm not following him anymore, am I? And it's not as if he were even guilty!" Charlie began to cough nervously. There was really no way to explain the situation to him if she was to continue keeping her uncle's secret. "Why are you letting this bother you? Can't we move on to a new point in our lives? Why must everything be about your Uncle Charlie?" Her eyes shot up to his own, fury blazing forth from them. He smiled softly, realizing that perhaps he had said too much. "Come now… I don't want to quarrel. After all, I love you. I want to take care of you. You're my own sweet girl."

No. She was not _his_ sweet girl. "Jack, from the very beginning of our friendship I told you that I wanted us to be close. But-"

"Wait, wait…" he interrupted. " 'Friendship'? Is that all this is to you?"

"I never said it was anything more than that!" She was becoming frustrated once more. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment or two, slowly letting out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I really am." Not certain what she should do, Charlie slowly stood from the table and pushed her own chair in.

"Wait…" He called out. Reluctantly, she turned back to him. "I just have one question for you."

Though she knew she probably would not wish to answer it, she quietly said, "Yes?"

"Answer me honestly. If that whole affair between your uncle and me had not occurred… Would this 'friendship' of ours really be different?"

"I don't know, I-"

"Charlie, just- Please… answer the question."

She felt a knot growing in her throat. "Possibly. I mean… I probably would be able to…see you in a different light. But what does that matter if-"

Suddenly, he scoffed and stood, throwing his napkin on the table. He stood closer to her. "I'm 32 years old, Charlie. I know it doesn't seem that ancient, but I don't have time to waste on your silly childish whims. It's time to grow up." At this, he took her hand and gently placed a small object in it. "Think about it once more, Charlie. If you don't change your mind within a few weeks, I promise I won't bother you about it again."

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After a silent, awkward walk home with Jack, Charlie slowly drudged up the front porch steps and entered the house.

"Charlie? Is that you?" her mother called from the other room.

"Yes, Mother. It's me."

"Back so soon, dear?" Emma asked, entering from the living room. "Was Jack called in to work?"

"Uh… Yes. He was."

"Oh," Emma murmured, taking Charlie's coat and placing it in the closet for her. "He's such a good, responsible young man, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Charlie mumbled, approaching the stairs.

"And he's such a gentleman! You don't see many of those anymore."

"Yes, Mother. He's the epitome of good grace and excellence."

"And your father just adores him! The three of them (your father, Jack, and Herb) talk for hours about different ways they could murder each other. It's quite delightful to them."

Charlie did not reply but quietly ascended the stairs. "Good night, Mother."

"Good night, Dearest. Sleep well."

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Charlie did not sleep well that evening. In fact, she couldn't remember a more distressing night. She kept awakening from the most terrible dreams. In each one, she clearly saw him… her Uncle Charlie… it seemed as though they were on a train… and he was attempting to throw her off in front of an approaching train coming at full speed from the opposite direction. Yet, each time this nightmare crept into her mind, Jack was always there, attempting to save her.

Finally, after experiencing this terrible vision several times, Charlie leaped out of her bed and began to pace her room. Was it really so terrible that she wanted to experience her life without being tied down to Santa Rosa or even California in general? Yes, Jack was a nice man. He was a perfect gentleman… he adored her… her family adored him… he was, in a way, her protector. And yet… And yet… What was stopping her?

She sat on the stool in front of her vanity table and thought deeply. What was it that stopped her from eagerly taking this perfect man who wanted nothing but the best for her? What was she waiting for? He was absolutely right about her. She was childish, living in a silly world, waiting to go out and experience it. But would she ever have the courage to do so? Most likely never, unless someone was there to show the world to her. Jack could never be that person. But, if she were to be truly honest with herself, how long would her desire to experience life last before she became weary of the adventure? She could reject Jack, the "perfect gentleman." She had every right to do so. But why would she, if she ended up right back in Santa Rosa after a year or two of pointlessly traveling the world? In her mind, she knew it was an opportunity that only an immature child living in a fantasy would reject.

She lifted her purse, placed it on her lap, and gently opened it. She slowly pulled out the object that he had placed in her hand that evening. The rich gem sparkled as its rays of light gently danced upon her ceiling. It was dazzling and undeniably tempting… much like the person who gave it to her. However, her eyes slowly left the jewel and turned towards the drawer to her left. She felt her hand latch on to the drawer handle and pull it open. Staring up at her was the one perfect glimpse she had left of her dear Uncle Charlie. But was that tender memory really worth throwing away the rest of her life?

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Charlie entered the living room early the next morning to find her mother seated at a desk, writing. On the floor, her 13-year-old sister Ann sat, reading something by Dickens.

"Oh, good morning, dear!" her mother called brightly.

"Good morning, Mother. How are you, Ann?"

"I'm fine, thank you…" Ann hardly glanced up from her book.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to your Uncle Charlie, dear?" Emma asked. Charlie turned to her mother, her stomach turning instantly.

"What?"

"I'm writing a letter to him. I'm not sure if it will go through or not, but I figure it's worth a try."

"Oh, Mother, you've already tried writing him three times. If those letters didn't go through, what makes you think…" Charlie could hear the tone of her voice begin to rise and crack. At this, Ann slowly stared up at her, a look of suspicion on her small, quizzical face.

"Well…" Emma wasn't sure how to respond to this. "Nevertheless, I think I'll still try… After all, he is my baby brother. I do worry about him."

Charlie stood quietly, running her finger from side to side over the mantle's surface over the fireplace. It took her several minutes to realize that Ann was still staring at her inquiringly. "What is it?" Charlie snapped.

Anne quickly returned to her book. "Oh… Nothing."

"Really, Charlie, there's no need to be so unpleasant," her mother said quietly, continuing to write.

"I'm not being unpleasant, Mother," she explained defensively. "It's just… We can't go on thinking that Uncle Charlie has time for us. Maybe he's very busy. Maybe he'll never reply!"

"Oh, please don't say that, Charlie," Emma broke in worriedly. "I couldn't bear it."

"Well, still… It's just silly to constantly worry and fret about Uncle Charlie, wondering how he's doing… What he's doing… If he's safe and happy… or if he's lonely…" Charlie was now murmuring to herself, caught up in her own thoughts. After a moment, she glanced about nervously. Emma had continued writing, but Ann was once again giving her that prodding stare. "It's silly and immature. That's all. But if you want to write it, you might as well do so. It's not as if he's going to receive it anyway!" At this she smiled perhaps a bit too cheerfully. She brusquely turned and walked towards the hall. But after a moment of hesitation, she turned once more to her mother and sister, grinning darkly. "But as long as you're writing… you might as well tell him the good news. I've decided I am going to marry Jack Graham!"

Emma nearly dropped her pen, splattering a bit of ink on the letter. Before she had time to rise, Charlie was already out of the room. "Oh my! Well-" she stuttered. She looked from side to side in a flurry. "I… I have to tell your father!" she exclaimed happily, departing quickly. Ann watched after her, not quite as excited as her mother had been. She slowly stood and approached the desk at which her mother had been seated. She looked over the letter for a moment. Clearly, Emma was just about finished with it. Ann, who had remarkably similar penmanship to her mother, lifted the fountain pen and wrote one short simple sentence:

"Also, my dear, you must congratulate our own Charlie, who as of today, is engaged to be married to Jack Graham, that darling gentleman you met on your last visit to Santa Rosa, who has been going steady with her for two years now."

After copying her mother's signature, Ann folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and after writing down the address, which her mother had laid out on the desk earlier that morning, tucked the letter in a pocket and carefully made her way to the post office.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_**

Charles Oakley opened his bloodshot eyes and rotated his head about his room nervously. How was he to defeat this terrible plague of insomnia if his neighbors continued to incessantly pound on the walls?

"Mr. Oakley," a voice called. "May I come in?" Apparently it had not been pounding on the wall; it was just his landlady, attempting to knock _quietly _at the door, as he had asked her to do before on multiple occasions.

"Come in…" he mumbled, struggling to sit up. A short, hefty woman of about fifty entered the room, a stack of papers in her hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Oakley!" she said, far too cheerily. "You can't sleep all day, you know." At this, she threw open the drapes and a bright stream of sunlight shone directly into his eyes, causing him to cringe.

"I haven't been sleeping, Mrs. Green," he whispered impatiently. "I was only resting. Is there something the matter?"

"Not at all! Why would there be?"

"I'm just curious to know what the reason is for this unexpected visit." He stumbled off his bed and crossed to his desk. He clumsily poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Really, Mr. Oakley! It isn't dignified for a young man like you to be drinking at this time of day!" Mrs. Green exclaimed, gesturing towards the sunlight pouring in from the window.

"Too late to sleep, to early to drink…" He mumbled, ignoring her discontentment as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"Perhaps I should be asking if there's something the matter with _you_," she said, eying him suspiciously. He glanced up at her, checking himself.

"Why is that?"

"I can't help but worry about men like you, Mr. Oakley. That's all."

He smiled sourly, taking another drink. "It's nothing, ma'am. Just… a disconcerting dream."

"You know, my father used to have terrible dreams. They were _real_ nightmares. Scared him half out of his mind! In the end, they killed him. I'm not exaggerating, mind you. The dream was so terrifying that it gave him a heart attack. The next morning… Well… You know."

"Is this supposed to console me?" he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant, though he could not help but feel disturbed by this grim anecdote.

"Well, not exactly. But it's a good enough reason for you to go talk to a doctor if you need to. That might help."

He scoffed as he poured more whiskey into his glass. "I can't see a doctor."

"Why not?" she asked, staring at him inquisitively.

His feigned good humor was at last beginning to dim. "For personal reasons, Mrs. Green. Again, is there a reason for your visit?"

"Oh!" she murmured, flipping through the papers in her hand. "Here we are! There's a letter for you. It came all the way from California! You know anyone in California, Mr. Oakley? You have movie star friends there? Is that it?"

He was no longer humoring her ramblings; rather, his eyes were focused on the letter. "Thank you, Mrs. Green. You may go." He said gruffly, taking the letter from her.

Suppressing her immediate reaction to balk at his rudeness, the landlady crossed the room indignantly and slammed the door behind her, hoping to reveal her extreme displeasure. Unfortunately for her, he paid no attention to her indignity. Despite all of the alcohol he had previously consumed, his hands began to quake anxiously as he held the envelope. He examined the writing closely. It clearly was Emma who had written it; of that much he was certain. Assuring himself of this, he breathed deeply, waiting for his heartbeat to decrease before deciding whether or not to open it.

Emma had sent him several letters before this one. After reading the first one, he could not bring himself to open the second. He could feel with every word she had scribbled on the paper how she yearned to hear from him, just to know that he was well. But he had promised his niece that he would not correspond with any of them ever again. Was there any point in torturing himself by reading these desperate letters from a sister who loved him tenderly and solely depended on his well being in order to be happy? Sometimes, when thinking of Emma, he found himself growing frustrated. Was it not enough that she had a decent husband and three wonderful children? Why did she rely on his happiness to create contentment for herself? Her own daughter was far more mature and detached than Emma was. He doubted that Charlie worried about him anymore. Not after their last encounter. Yet… He couldn't be certain…

He gripped both sides of the letter, preparing to tear it in half. Yet something stopped him. It was not mere curiosity, for that he could easily defeat. It was more than meager inquisitiveness… He felt as though the letter called to him, entreating him to open it. Upon examining how that might sound to anyone other than himself, he quickly began to wonder if perhaps he did spend far too much time by himself. However, the voice needed to be answered. He quickly ripped open the envelope and pulled out several sheets of crisp white paper, covered in Emma's cursive.

He distractedly crossed the room to his bed, reading all the while. No, nothing seemed the least bit out of the ordinary in the letter. She worried about him. She wanted him to write to her. She wanted to know of his well being. It was a typical letter written by his overly-concerned older sister. He regretted even bothering to open it and was just about to throw it away when the last few lines of the final page caught his eye.

As he read the short, simple sentence, Charles Oakley stood from the bed and began to pace. He read it once, and then recited it aloud several times. After doing this many times, he had memorized the exact wording and repeated it to himself without looking at the letter.

"Also, my dear, you must congratulate our own Charlie, who as of today, is engaged to be married to Jack Graham, that darling gentleman you met on your last visit to Santa Rosa, who has been going steady with her for two years now."

Was it really possible? he asked himself, feelings of resentment and anger slowing captivating him, though he was not entirely certain why. She was getting married, preparing to move forward in her life. Why would she care about her estranged uncle? What had he ever brought her, except perhaps heartache? And maybe he hadn't even given her that. Perhaps she had never cared for him. After all, if she did, how could she marry the one odious man who had tried to end his very life?

He felt the blood rush to his head and for once he no longer felt exhausted. His fatigue had been entirely replaced with a sense of exasperation… No, it was not exasperation. He was furious and could not help admitting it to himself. He felt betrayed in every sense of the word by the one creature that he had loved implicitly. But what could be done? If she wanted to marry this Jack Graham, it was her own decision to make. He had no way of controlling her. It was not as if he had any plans of seeing her again anyway.

Perhaps he simply needed to grow accustomed to the idea. After all, was there any way for him to become detached from her if he constantly thought about her and what she was feeling for him? It was an unhealthy obsession. He understood this in his mind. However… He had told himself many times that if he did not at least try to cure his mental dilemma, he would certainly perish.

His eyes jumped from one object to another in his bedroom as his mind raced over all of the possible ways he could fix this problem… But was it the least bit plausible for him to think that he would forget about her?

A cold smile slowly quivered on his lips as he wiped his forehead with his hand. How foolish he had been during these two years past! Here he was, repeating to himself that he would forget his past happiness. But how was this to be accomplished if all he did was sit in his lifeless apartment, brooding over the memories of a life that had long departed from him? Two years before, he had departed from Santa Rosa and he had said the words "good bye." But in a way, he never really left.

Charles Oakley remembered little of what happened after his moment of epiphany; However, the next vivid memory he had was of suddenly standing in front of a ticket counter, a suit case in hand, clearly enunciating the words, "One train ticket, please, to Santa Rosa."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5_**

"Darling, I'm just so happy for you!" Emma said, passing the potatoes to her husband Joe, who lifted them eagerly.

"Yes, Mother," Charlie murmured, dabbing her lips with a napkin, trying to avoid Jack's loving smile. "So you've said."

"I just love weddings!" Emma continued, unaware of her daughter's lack of enthusiasm. "You must decide when the ceremony will be, how many people you want to attend, what type of cake you'd like…" Charlie's attention slowly faded far from her mother's chatter. She stared down at the tablecloth, slowly chewing on a dinner roll. But her thoughts were quickly interrupted by Jack who placed his hand on hers and ran a finger over her diamond. She gave him a quick smile of courtesy but pulled her hand away as soon as she thought she could without being blatantly rude. "And then there are wedding invitations! You must send them out as soon as you possibly can. And hopefully they will all go through." Charlie turned to her mother, her expression suddenly filled with alarm.

"Oh, Mother…" She began, trying not to sound the least bit worried. "Speaking of letters not going through… I was wondering… Did you ever send that letter?"

"Which one, dear?" Emma asked, smiling as she prodded the chicken on her plate.

"You know… The letter that I said would never go through…" Emma stared at her blankly. Charlie tried to contain an impatient sigh. "The letter to Uncle Charlie…" She murmured at last. She tried to avoid meeting eyes with Jack, who she was certain would be frowning at this point.

"Oh…" Emma whispered, a look of concern on her face. "Well… I completely forgot about it! Isn't that terrible? I'll try to find it tonight."

"Mother," Ann suddenly interjected, her eyes widened.

"Yes, darling?"

"Well, um… Don't you remember? As soon as Charlie told us her news, you… finished the letter, put it in an envelope and gave it to me… to bring to the post office."

"What?" Emma asked, confused. "Well, I'm certain I didn't. I remember going off to find your father after Charlie told us her news."

"You finished the letter first, Mother," Ann corrected, mashing her potatoes with a fork intensely. "Maybe… Maybe you forgot because you were excited."

"Oh… Well, that must be it," Emma said, still not entirely convinced.

Charlie wanted desperately to move on to another subject, yet curiosity demanded that she ask her mother one more question. "And… You didn't actually tell him that I was getting married… Did you?" Despite her best endeavors to hide it, the familiar tone of alarm crept into her voice, causing everyone to stare up at her from their dinner plates. Noticing the sudden silence, Charlie turned to them and tried her best to grin. "Not that it matters."

"Well… No. I don't think I told him about the wedding. Though I suppose I could have, knowing how terrible my memory seems to be. But I don't believe I did, darling," Emma said. Charlie briefly closed her eyes, relieved. But in order to avoid suspicion, she quickly returned to her dinner. Fortunately, she seemed to have avoided Jack's detection (which, in a way, was rather ironic, considering what his profession was). Ann, however, was still staring. What was she constantly staring at her like that?

"Ann… Is there a reason you're always looking at me like that?" Charlie whispered, still trying to control her pitch.

"No reason, Charlie," Ann murmured, turning away, annoyed. The table was silent for several minutes. "You know…" Ann began, suddenly smiling in a way that seemed to Charlie to be somewhat out of character for her introverted little sister. "It's a shame you forgot to mention the wedding in your letter, Mother."

"Why's that, dear?" Emma asked, hardly glancing up. Charlie, needless to say, was now the one who stared.

"Maybe Uncle Charlie would like to know. After all, Charlie is definitely his… _favorite_." The way Ann said this caused Charlie to inwardly shudder. "Who knows? Maybe he'd like to come to the wedding!" At this, Charlie inadvertently dropped her knife, which landed on her plate with a piercing crash, causing everyone at the table (even Ann) to jump.

"Your Uncle Charlie's a very busy man, of course," Emma said pensively. "But I'm sure he might at least like the option of coming…"

"Is that necessary?" Everyone glanced towards Jack, who, up until this point, had been silent. "I mean…" He tried desperately to think of a way to excuse himself. "Perhaps I need to rephrase that. After all… He's busy and… probably has more to think about than a silly wedding. And there's no guarantee that he would even receive an invitation, right?"

"Yes! That's right!" Charlie interjected, feeling excited that she at last had someone on her side. "Really… I suppose there's no reason to invite him. It would just make him feel bad if he couldn't come."

"I suppose that's possible," Emma said disappointedly. "Still… I wonder…"

"Let's not talk about it anymore. The wedding will just be a small ceremony anyway. There's no need to trouble everyone about it," Charlie explained, hoping her words would pacify Emma.

"All right. Let's not discuss it now. Jack, would you like another roll?" Emma asked, attempting to sound pleasant.

"No thank you," Jack mumbled, staring down at his plate. Charlie looked at him curiously. She could clearly tell that he was upset, though he was trying his best to hide it. After all, no one would understand why he was upset. In a way, she didn't even understand.

************************************************************************

"So, we're having a small ceremony, I hear?" Jack asked as he and Charlie stepped out onto the porch after dinner.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, concerned.

"Not at all. I'll be happy with whatever makes you happy," he explained, once more taking her hand.

"Jack…" she whispered hesitantly, afraid of what might come from prying too deeply into his feelings.

"Yes?"

"At dinner… Why were you so opposed to the idea of my Uncle Charlie coming to the wedding?"

"I wasn't opposed to the idea…" he said, trying to sound careless. "But… like you said… he's a very busy man and probably wouldn't want to be bothered."

"You can be honest with me now. We're not in front of people." As soon as she said this, she could see his features growing darker.

"What does it matter, Charlie? I just-" He knew he must be careful when choosing what he could and could not say to her on this subject. "I'm not particularly fond of your uncle. Is that too difficult to believe? I know you think he's absolutely perfect, but-"

"No I don't," she interrupted. "He's not perfect. Not even close to being perfect."

"Well… Anyway, I… just don't know how I feel about him coming to the wedding and causing you to become overwhelmed with excitement."

"Why would I become excited?" she asked defensively.

"Oh please, Charlie. I know how you are with him. When he was here two years ago, you couldn't take your eyes off of him every time he was in the room."

"Well, Jack, I was upset. You remember what was happening."

"Yes, I do. But nevertheless, I don't think I've ever seen a full-grown woman so completely attached to an uncle whom she hardly ever sees."

"I guess I never really thought about it…" Charlie said quietly, plucking a bud from a nearby rose bush.

"You know, if Charles Oakley wasn't your uncle, I might have to worry that…"

Charlie looked up at him in shock. "Worry that… What? He might steal me away from you? Is that it?" She now could see that he was smiling, much to her relief.

"Well, yes! Something along those lines. You really can't blame me."

"What a ridiculous thought…" she murmured to herself, absent-mindedly shredding the rosebud with her fingernails.

"I'm not jealous or anything, mind you," he explained. "It's just… I don't really know. There's just something about him that I don't like. It's unexplainable."

"I see." She was hardly even listening to him anymore.

Jack glanced down at his watch. "I really should go," he whispered. "Say good night to your family for me." She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the rosebud. He leaned in to kiss her good night, but soon found that she had turned her cheek towards him nervously.

"Good night, Jack," she whispered sweetly.

"Good night, Love." At this, he strolled towards his car and, after giving her a final wave, drove away.

She watched after him for a while, her mind wandering. She smiled and shook her head slowly, finally letting the disintegrated rosebud drop from her fingers.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_**

Much to his own disbelief, he had at last arrived in Santa Rosa. From the train station, he had taken a cab and finally reached the Newton residence at approximately three o'clock in the afternoon. As soon as he stepped out of the cab, he felt the urge to turn around and travel as far from the house as possible. He might have done so, had he not noticed the fact that the car was missing from the garage. Upon seeing this, he succumbed to his curiosity and within several minutes, Charles Oakley was slowly crossing the lawn, preparing to enter the home that had brought him so much happiness in the past.

He glanced in a window to see the parlor. Ann was seated on the floor reading while eating an apple. She had grown considerably within the past two years. Yet, despite her physical growth, she seemed to be exactly the same, going through her daily schedule of perusing through novels from the moment she woke to her bedtime. But this was to be expected. People in small towns hardly ever changed, much like the small towns themselves hardly ever changed. At times he wondered what had ever possessed him to abandon this simple, yet secure way of life.

He contemplated whether or not he wished to enter through the front door. If he did so, he would be forced to contrive some excuse for being there, which he would have to do anyway, eventually. But before anyone else saw him, he felt the earnest need to speak to Charlie first. After all, she was the reason for his visit, was she not? After deciding this, he quickly walked around the house and crept up the backstairs, trying desperately to avoid any steps that would make noise as he pressed upon them. He silently opened the back door and made his way down the hallway, not entirely certain where he was going.

He remembered from his last visit that Charlie's room had been the last door on the right. Perhaps it would be wise for him to wait there, he thought to himself, crossing cautiously to said room. He turned the doorknob and entered the small, dimly lit bedroom. Not to his surprise, nothing had really changed there. He remembered Charlie once saying something about wanting to paint the walls yellow and white. He wondered why she had not done so. Perhaps she had been too distracted by that monstrous fellow she was marrying to remember such trivial matters.

He slowly turned about the room, examining all of the various objects in it. On the wall, her graduation picture still hung proudly. She seemed so carefree and joyful in the photo. He wondered if she still had that youthful charm. Her vanity table was covered with various items, all of which were scattered about as though she had been searching for something in particular. Stepping closer to the table, he fingered through the objects inquisitively. Nothing seemed out of place to him. There were several worthless jewels, dried rose petals, a handkerchief… He examined a small bottle of perfume, which she had left opened. It smelled fresh and sweet. The aroma was quite familiar to him and brought him a great deal of contentment as he slowly inhaled. She must have been wearing it for many years, for his mind distinctly associated it with her presence. Replacing it on the table, he continued to examine her possessions lying about. He was about to continue his stroll when a certain object in the vanity drawer caught his attention. He picked it up, raised it to his eyes, and could hardly believe what he was seeing. After all that had happened, she had still kept it… The one and only photograph that had ever been taken of him as a young child.

A sense of joy filled his heart as he examined it. Perhaps she did still care as he had hoped. Of course, this really would not make any difference, if she were still planning on marrying Jack Graham of all men. Nevertheless, the fact that she had never destroyed this constant reminder of his existence filled him with a sense of hope.

"Please, Mother…" a voice echoed from downstairs. "I don't need to try on the dress. I'm sure it will fit."

"No, Charlie. You really must put it on right away. If it needs tailoring, we should do so immediately," Emma replied worriedly.

He could hear Charlie slowly sigh. "All right. If you insist," she reluctantly replied. He could hear her footsteps slowly ascending the stairs, causing his heart to palpitate fiercely within his chest. He glanced about himself, a sudden feeling of panic filling his mind. Though he normally would never succumb to such a senseless impulse, Charles suddenly found himself standing incredibly still between two of her overcoats within the closet. Yet, to his surprise, she did not enter for what seemed to be an eternity. He could still hear his heartbeat within his mind and he hoped that she would not hear it as well once she came to the bedroom.

Finally, the doorknob turned and he heard her footsteps cross the wooden floor towards a mirror. Curiosity once more getting the better of him, he silently cracked open the closet door and peered out. There she stood, before a mirror, clad in a beautiful yet simple wedding gown. Yet, for such a vibrant young woman, her expression seemed to illuminate discontentment. She smoothed the silk skirt and turned from side to side. It fit her perfectly, just as she had said.

"You're in a wedding dress, yet judging by your expression, one might think you attended a funeral," he heard himself state, as his body moved forward out of the closet, no longer under his constraint. She glanced at him in the mirror and brusquely turned towards him, her eyes widened as though he were the ghost of a long lost friend. In a way, that's exactly what he had become to her. He stood there staring at her as she stared back at him, waiting for her to react in some way. He would have been happy if she did anything, whether she embraced him or became angry with him. All he needed was to see some kind of a reaction from her. And a reaction is exactly what he received, for within several moments after he opened his mouth, young Charlie Newton had landed on the floor, quite unconscious. This was not exactly the type of reaction he had been hoping for.

************************************************************************

Earlier that afternoon…

Charlie Newton tapped her fingers anxiously, waiting for her mother to come out of the drug store. At last Emma did so, carrying a small brown paper bag in one arm.

"Here you are, dear. I bought you some medicine. Hopefully, it will help your head ache to disappear," she said, handing the bag to Charlie. "As soon as we return home, I'm going to find my wedding dress. I'm sure it will be beautiful on you, provided it's not too out-of-date."

"I'm sure it's fine, Mother," Charlie mumbled. For the past several days, Charlie had been feeling exceptionally weak. Emma claimed that it was just nerves; yet Charlie wondered if some other factor might be causing it. Surely it was partially due to sleep deprivation, but she had an inner feeling that perhaps something else (something dark and sinister) was causing her sudden frailty. She found herself growing lightheaded every time she descended the stairs too quickly. The very sight of food made her feel slightly nauseous. She had lost some weight because of this, which only added to her fatigue. She hoped that her weakness might be short lived, for she was certain that Jack would worry if he knew. Yet this day seemed to be worse than all of the days prior. She suffered a terrible migraine and felt herself sway each time she was required to move. For this reason, she was somewhat less than enthusiastic over the thought of trying on a wedding dress, which she was expected to wear on an occasion that was not entirely exciting to her, no matter how much she tried to deny it to herself.

"Have you decided when the wedding shall be?" Emma asked as Charlie drove them home.

"Well… No," Charlie said hesitantly. "Hopefully we can just get it over wi- I mean… I hope we'll have it as soon as possible."

"Oh, I see you're becoming anxious!" Emma said, grinning. Little did she know Charlie's sentiments were somewhat less than enthusiastic. They were just passing the train station when something (or rather, someone) caught Charlie's attention. She could not make out his features, but she could see a tall gentleman loitering about the station, a walking stick in hand. She suddenly felt the car begin to turn closer to the station, nearly crashing into the vehicle in the adjacent lane. "Charlie!" her mother gasped, pulling at the wheel until they were no longer in danger.

"I'm sorry, Mother!" Charlie exclaimed, gasping for air. "I told you I wasn't fit for driving today. It seems that now I'm having hallucinations!"

"What are you talking about?" Emma asked.

"Nothing," Charlie whispered. "I'm pulling over." She did so as soon as she was able to do so and quickly jumped out of the car, a sudden feeling of nausea once more possessing her. She managed to suppress it, but it took nearly twenty minutes before she was able to return to the car. This time, Emma decided to drive, though she was no better at it than Charlie would have been. Charlie could hardly believe that they managed to return home without one of them causing an accident. Charlie once more quitted the car and walked up the steps to the front porch.

"Charlie," her mother called. "I don't want to bother you. I know you're ill, but…"

"Yes?" she asked as they entered the house and crossed to the stairs.

"It's just that Miss Smith from the tailor's shop needs the dress by this evening. She's going on a trip tomorrow and…"

"Please, Mother. I don't need to try on the dress. I'm sure it will fit."

"No, Charlie. You really must put it on right away. If it needs tailoring, we should do so immediately."

Charlie sighed. "All right. If you insist." Charlie ascended the stairs and crossed to her mother's bedroom. She opened the closet and pulled out the old wedding gown. She had meant to put it in her own closet the night before, but she had forgotten. Within a few minutes, she had changed into it and was struggling to do the buttons in the back. There was a small mirror in her parent's bedroom, but it was not tall enough for her to see the entire dress. She decided it might be best to give the dress a quick glance-over in her own vanity mirror. She slowly trudged into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

As soon as she entered, she was struck with another plague of anxiety. She could not place it, but something was definitely wrong with her bedroom. She turned about, trying to discover what was bothering her. No, nothing was different… though she had no recollection of leaving her perfume bottle on the edge of the vanity table where it could be easily knocked over. She placed the cap on the bottle and pushed it closer to the mirror. She turned her eyes to her own reflection and stared back at herself in discontentment. Nothing was wrong with the dress, she admitted. She just was not pleased with the person wearing it.

"You're in a wedding dress, yet judging by your expression, one might think you attended a funeral," a familiar voice said from behind her. She stared beyond her own reflection towards the closet, from which the voice echoed. Standing in the closet doorway was a very recognizable figure, gazing at her, intrigued.

She felt herself turn to him, though she hadn't an idea of what she should do or say. She attempted to call his name, but the words were caught in her throat, refusing to be heard. Suddenly, the feeling of weakness came over her once more, only this time she was unable to control it. Everything seemed rather dark after this.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_**

She slowly awoke to the sound of the ticking of a wristwatch. She first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was a brown suitcase, situated on the floor near the nightstand.

"Turn your head," a voice said, softly. She did as she was told, still in a half-daze. Suddenly, she saw who was speaking to her and felt a groan echo from her throat. He lifted her head with one hand and gently put a small flask to her lips with another. "Have some…" he directed.

"No," she moaned, pushing the flask away.

"Come now. Do as you're told," he demanded, still speaking in a soft whisper. She hadn't the energy to protest any longer and eventually began to drink from the flask. She was not entirely certain what it was, but she could feel it burn her throat and her eyes soon filled with tears.

"Enough!" she entreated, beginning to cough. She looked about herself and saw that she was now lying across the bed. He sat next to her and was now placing the flask on the night table. She closed her eyes and returned her head to the pillow. He lifted his hand to her forehead and touched it softly. She could feel his eyes staring at her, concerned.

"You're in a cold sweat," he stated, pulling out a handkerchief. He lifted a nearby glass of water and poured a little onto the handkerchief, placing it over her eyes. "Are you sick?" he asked.

"No…" she murmured. "I mean… I don't know." She threw the handkerchief to the side and quickly struggled to sit up.

"Careful!" he said, holding her shoulders as she made her way to a sitting position. "Come now…" he whispered, patting her cheek. "Tell your Uncle Charlie what's wrong with you."

"You're not my 'Uncle Charlie'," she snapped, pushing his hands away. "You stopped being my dear uncle as soon as you tried to have me break my neck on the backstairs."

He sighed painfully. "I was afraid of that…"

"You should have been. What are you doing here?" she asked irritably.

"I needed to see you."

"Why?"

"I received your mother's letter and thought I should at least talk with you before you decide to go through with it," he admitted.

"What?" she gasped, horrified. "What do you mean, 'go through with it'? What did Mother tell you?"

"Relax, Charlie. I know about the wedding and-"

"But she said she didn't write about it!" she exclaimed, trying to pull herself off the bed.

"Now Charlie, you're not well. Stop moving so much." He grasped onto her shoulders once more as she struggled to get free. "You'll make yourself faint again."

"Let me go!" she demanded, still struggling.

He pulled her closer to him. "Charlie, sit still!"

"Don't hold me like that!" she cried fiercely. At last she stopped struggling and relaxed on the bed, rubbing her face in distress. "Please go away," she begged. "I don't want to talk to you. I told you I didn't want to see you again. You promised!"

"I know I did, but-"

"Go!" she demanded. "Go before Mother sees you! If she does, she'll never allow you to leave!"

"Do you really want me to leave?" he asked, pulling her hands from her face. "I'll go if you want me to… But first I need to talk to you."

"Well, start speaking then, if you must," she mumbled, resigned.

He stood from the bed and crossed the room nervously. "Something's wrong with me, Charlie," he at last said.

She glanced up, worried. "What's wrong? Are you sick too?"

"Not sick. Just… Tormented. I can't stop worrying about the way we ended things when I was last here, no matter how hard I try. And when I heard that you were getting married, I couldn't hold myself back any longer."

"Why would you care if I got married?" she asked.

"I want you to be happy, Charlie," he said, grasping onto the bedposts. "And I know that a girl like you will never be happy with a simpleton like Jack Graham. You want to see the world and experience things, just as I did when I was young."

"How would you know that?"

"We're alike, aren't we? The same blood runs through our veins and the same desires fill our hearts. You weren't meant for a small town like Santa Rosa. You should experience everything that this world has to offer."

"That's not what you said before," she said. "You said that I was just a silly little girl. Isn't that exactly what you said?"

"Charlie…" he groaned, returning to her side. "Forget about what I said. I'm different now. I've changed." She intensely scrutinized him, trying to read his expression. Maybe he had changed. But that wouldn't make her forget all that he had done.

"How could I experience the world," she began at last. "When the one person who would be able to show it to me has lost my trust forever?" He stared at her and straightened himself, agitated. She did not believe her words could hurt him, yet he seemed distraught.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Charlie…" he whispered. "If I had been in my right mind before, I never…" His voice began to fade. "But I suppose there's no point in fretting about the past. What's important is the present. I've told you that. So tell me right now… Do you want to settle for Jack Graham and live the remainder of your life in a small town? If that's really what your heart desires, I promise I'll go."

She tried desperately to mouth the word yes, but for some reason her lips refused. Perhaps it was because he was begging them not to do so. Much to both of their surprise, she was soon unable to give him an answer. Right as she was about to speak, the door swung open and Emma was now staring at both of them in shock.

"Charles!" she squealed, crossing quickly to them. "What are you-"

"Hello, Emma!" he greeted, lifting himself from the bed and embracing her. "How's my dear sister?"

"I'm fine, dearest! But what are you doing-"

"I received your letter and came as soon as I heard about Charlie's _delightful_ news." He glanced past Emma and saw Ann, now standing in the doorway, her eyes widened.

"But I never wrote about the wedding in my letter…" Emma said. Charles was no longer listening to her.

"Hello, Ann. You've grown considerably since I last saw you."

"Ann…" Emma said, a sense of warning in her voice. "Give your Uncle Charlie a kiss." After a moment of hesitation, Ann reluctantly crossed to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"That's my dear girl," he said, patting her face. "Well, I see everything is just about the same, Emma. It's all still quite enchanting."

"Charles, I'm so happy to see you…" Emma now noticed Charlie, who was still lying on the bed, a look of pain on her face. "Charlie, what's wrong?"

"I'm afraid I startled her, Emma," Charles answered. "I meant to surprise her, but ended up frightening her to the point of fainting."

"Oh my!" Emma gasped, crossing to Charlie, concerned.

"Don't worry, Mother. I'm fine."

"Well, perhaps I should go call a doctor."

"No, really! I don't need a doctor. I just need to relax for a while, I suppose."

"Yes, do relax, dear," she entreated. "Perhaps your Uncle Charlie will keep you company."

"I'd be happy to," Charles said, staring at Charlie with a feigned smile.

"Excuse me one moment, Charles," Emma said, leaving the room. "I just need to go call Joe at the bank. He'll want to know you're here." Emma skipped out of the room excitedly.

Charles sat next to Charlie and was about to return to their previous conversation when he suddenly noticed Ann, who was now seated at the vanity table staring at them unnervingly. "Oh… Ann. I didn't realize you were still here." She made no reply. "Uh… Perhaps we should all go downstairs," he suggested, preparing to help Charlie sit up.

"I can stand on my own," she said faintly, crossing out of the room. He watched her exit and turned back to Ann, who was now slowly crossing the room.

"It's nice to see you, dear," he said. "We'll have to get to know one another on this trip."

"Oh, I think I know you well enough," Ann said, leaving the room brusquely. He stared after her, disconcerted. He hoped desperately that she _didn't_ know him well enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter 8_**

Charles Oakley sat in a large chair with his cigar resting between his fingers, as he attempted to read the paper, despite the fact that Emma's scampering about in the kitchen proved to be a distraction. Finally, he refolded the paper and turned to Ann, who was sprawled out in the floor, a book in hand, as usual.

"Uh, Ann…" he called pleasantly. She glanced up, slightly annoyed by his interruption. "Would you come here a minute please?" he asked sweetly. She struggled to her feet, attempting to hide an eye-roll, and slowly approached him stiffly. "Well, come here! Sit on your Uncle Charlie's lap."

"I'm not a baby anymore," Ann replied. "I don't sit on gentlemen's laps. It isn't proper."

"I'm not a 'gentleman', Ann."

"Yes, I know," she mumbled, turning the book's pages with her thumb.

"Come now… I'm your favorite Uncle Charlie. Remember?" he coaxed. She sighed quietly and eventually sat on the edge of his knee.

"Yes, I remember. But in all fairness, you're my only Uncle Charlie. If I had another, I might like him more."

"Well, I hope not," Charles replied, playing with the dangling flower Ann had placed behind her ear. "Tell me, Ann… Are you excited about the wedding?"

Ann glanced up, surprised, but quickly turned down to her novel. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "What do you think of that- I mean, Charlie's fiancé?"

"Jack?" Ann asked, her eyes brightened. "Oh… He's very nice. He always talks to me… I mean, to all of us. And he's very intelligent. I really- That is, we all really like him." Charles glanced to the side, suddenly in a bad humor. Ann eyed him curiously. "Of course, sometimes I think we all like him more than Charlie does."

His eyes shot up, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. It's a silly thought. It's just that… She never really smiles when she's with him. Actually, I don't think I even remember the last time she _really_ smiled, not out of obligation, I mean." She stared at him as his thoughts wondered. "_Actually_… I do remember. It was the last time you were here." He straightened nervously and grinned at her.

"Well, I wouldn't know why she wouldn't smile. Doesn't every girl want to get married?"

"I wouldn't make it sound so stereotypical."

"Do you have any idea as to why she wouldn't smile?" he asked cautiously.

She turned her eyes back to the book. "Why ask me? I'm only thirteen years of age. If you really want to know, you should ask her."

"I guess I'll have to," he grumbled, rubbing his chin absent-mindedly. "Not… that it's any of my affair."

"It may be more than you think," she replied, flipping a page.

Before he was able to prod her further, footsteps were heard crossing the hall and Charlie entered. She stopped for a moment, staring at her sister and uncle, who she had never seen speaking so intimately before. Recollecting herself, she slowly crossed to the chair and fingered through the disorganized items sitting on the table next to them.

"Looking for something, Charlie?" he asked, watching her curiously.

"Yes, I am. My father wants his murder-mystery novel out on the back porch. He and Herb want to discuss it. Maybe you should join them," she mumbled, glancing at him coldly. "I'm sure you wouldn't have any trouble contributing to their conversation."

"Uncle Charlie and I were discussing your wedding," Ann broke in. "He wants to know why you seem so unhappy about it."

"Ann!" Charles interrupted, chuckling nervously. "I'm afraid that's not exactly what I was asking. All I meant to say, Charlie, was… that you don't smile as much as brides generally do."

"With all due respect," Charlie replied, glaring at her sister. "I don't think you've been here long enough to be a fair judge… Unless, of course, you've been misinformed." Ann continued reading, as though she were completely oblivious to Charlie's cutting remark.

"Ann," Charles urged softly. "I think dinner is almost ready. You better go wash your hands." Ann stood and slowly walked towards the stairs, not bothering to glance up from her book… at least until she was out of sight.

"If you're hoping to continue our previous conversation, I'm afraid that's impossible," Charlie declared. "I'm far too busy helping Mother with dinner."

"Charlie," he said, holding one of her arms as he stood. "You're going to talk to me eventually, whether or not it's by choice."

"Are you really threatening me? But please, tell me exactly how you plan on forcing me to talk to you. Are you planning on poking me with a hot iron until I open my mouth? Will you push needles under my fingernails? Or maybe I'll just have another 'accident' on the backstairs or in the garage!"

"Stop it, Charlie!" he ordered, taking her other arm.

"Will you please stop grabbing me!" she snapped, struggling unsuccessfully to pull away.

"You really believe that I came all this way to kill you? I came because something needs to be done to put an end to this ridiculous wedding chaos."

"I'll thank you to mind your own-"

"You are my business, Charlie. You aren't in love with Jack Graham any more than your little sister is. Possibly less, actually. You only agreed to all of this because you were pressured into doing so. Don't you see? I'm here to save you from your own _weak will_!" Her eyes shot up to his. He could tell that she was quite angry now, like he had never seen her before. She swallowed dryly and tried desperately to prevent tears from rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly, a strong knock was heard at the door. She was about to walk towards it when he stopped her. "Go take your father's book to him and wipe your eyes. I'll answer the door." Though she wasn't entirely sure why, she found herself doing exactly as he told her.

Charles breathed deeply, smoothed his vest, and calmly approached the door. He opened it, smiling congenially. But as soon as he identified the guest, his smile rapidly began to wither. The two men stared at each other, neither one able to speak. Finally, the guest held out his hand with an artificial smile.

"Good evening. You might not remember me, Mr. Oakley. I'm Jack Graham… Your niece's _fiancé_."


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9_**

All that could be heard at the dinner table was the occasional clatter of silverware and Roger Newton's feet swinging beneath his chair. It had been this way for the past ten minutes. Emma was rather disconcerted by this- After all, with so many of her dear family members congregated together, she assumed that this would be a lighter, more festive occasion.

Charles glanced from his plate towards the serving dishes on the table. "Charlie, would you please pass me the bread basket?"

Charlie, who was unfortunate enough at the present time to be seated between her uncle and Jack, reached over her fiancé, took the basket and held it in front of Charles, not once glancing up from her meal. Detecting this, he smiled warmly and took the basket from her, patting her hand softly as he did so.

"Thank you, dear," he whispered. As she returned to her food, she found herself gently rubbing her hand where he had petted her, distressed. But suddenly she realized that she should not have done this, because Jack had witnessed the entire interaction and seemed to be frowning deeply.

"Is something wrong with your hand, Charlotte?" Ann asked, attempting to suppress a sly smile.

"I'm perfectly fine, Ann," Charlie replied irritably.

"Don't you feel well, Charlie?" Emma asked, concerned. "Goodness knows you should. After all, you have two of your favorite people sitting on either side of you."

"Maybe she just can't choose which one is her favorite. That must be _very_ distressing," Ann commented. Charlie glared at her, aware that both men were now staring at her expectantly.

"That's a silly idea, Ann," Emma said, smiling. "One's her soon-to-be husband and the other's her favorite uncle. She loves them both equally, but in different ways. Isn't that so, Charlie?"

Charlie could feel the eyes of every relative staring at her. She wanted to answer but couldn't see how this was possible without lying.

"Charlie's a good girl," Charles said, smiling pleasantly, patting her hand once more. "I'm sure she has enough love for both of us."

"That was never in question," Jack replied, turning his eyes towards Charles. "Was it?" No one knew quite how to respond to this. Charles himself was finding it to be more and more difficult to smile pleasantly.

"No, it wasn't," Charles replied, gently wiping the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin. "But the original question was so very absurd that I can't imagine Charlie actually being forced to answer it."

"I don't think it's all that absurd. Do you, Charlie?" Jack asked.

Charlie looked up anxiously. "I'm sorry… I… seem to have forgotten what the original question was. Isn't that funny? Jack, will you hand me the butter?"

"I remember what it was, Charlotte." Charlie gave her younger sister her most threatening glare yet. Ann did not seem the least bit intimidated. "You were deciding which one, Uncle Charlie or Jack, was your favorite. And you never answered. But that's all right. I'm sure we all know what your answer would be."

No one knew exactly how to respond to this statement either. Charlie stared intensely at her sister, praying that she wouldn't elaborate, despite that fact that her own curiosity wished to urge Ann to do so. Charlie continued to move food on her plate with her fork, hoping that no one would notice the fact that her hands were shaking. At last, much to Charlie's relief, Charles was kind enough to change the subject.

"I imagine that there's much to be done in preparation for the wedding," he stated, looking towards Emma.

"Oh! There's plenty to be done!" she replied, giggling to ease the tension. "Charlie and I are going to drop off the wedding gown at the tailor's tomorrow."

"Oh yes," Charles said with his usual smile. "I saw the dress myself earlier today. I don't think in the history of weddings a bride has ever looked more stunning." As he said this, he could see in the corner of his eye Charlie trying desperately to suppress her urge to panic.

"What?" Jack asked, looking from Charles to his niece. "I thought the bride wasn't supposed to be seen in her gown before the wedding. Isn't it bad luck or something?"

"That's just a silly superstition!" Roger retorted. "All superstitions are silly!"

"Don't be rude, Roger!" Ann scolded.

"Besides, it's only bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the wedding. Isn't that right?" Emma explained.

"Oh…" Jack continued stabbing the food on his plate with perhaps a little too much aggression.

"And as you know, I'm not the groom," Charles said quietly, glancing towards Jack.

Ann mumbled something under her breath in a sarcastic tone, which only Charlie noticed.

"Don't mumble, Ann," Charlie said warningly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Charlotte. Would you like me to repeat what I said in a louder tone?"

"No! I mean… That's quite all right. We don't need to hear it, I'm sure." Ann grinned sourly, as though she enjoyed watching her sister squirm.

"Oh! Charlie, I meant to tell you before…" Emma interrupted. "My dear friend, Mrs. Lincoln, from my women's club, wants to make your cake. She's insisting on making it for free. The dear woman's a widow but somehow is always so generous with her money, as well as her time."

Charles scoffed quietly as he took a sip of water. Charlie glanced up at him, concerned.

"Anyway, tomorrow she wants us to come over and try samples of some of her best cakes. Would you be able to come with Charlie and me, Jack? I know you're very busy."

Jack looked up, surprised. "Oh… Yes. That's fine, Mrs. Newton. I'm sure I'd be able to come, for a short amount of time anyway."

"She wants us there at about noon," Emma said.

"Well, that sounds quite enjoyable," Charles remarked. "I'm sure you'll all have quite a nice time."

"Oh…" Emma stared up, concerned. "Well, you can come too, of course, Charles. I just didn't think that you'd be interested."

"Not interested? I assure you that I'm _very_ interested with every aspect of this wedding," Charles explained.

"Oh please come then! Think of how nice that would be, Charlie! You'll have both of your favorites with you! It won't even matter who your _absolute_ favorite is. Really, I still think it's a… silly question."

************************************************************************

Charlie and Jack slowly strolled towards his car at approximately nine o'clock of the same evening.

"I know you're unhappy, Jack," she said at last. He sighed deeply and turned to her, not entirely sure of what to say in response. "I'll see what I can do to persuade him not to come with us tomorrow," she said, attempting to please him.

"Charlie," he scoffed. "I don't care about him trying our wedding cake. What I want to know is why he's even here to begin with. I thought you weren't going to write him about the wedding."

"I didn't, Jack! Honestly, I haven't an idea of how he found out. But he's here now and I would really appreciate it if you could just try to make due." He tried his best to smile, but Charlie could still detect the exasperation loitering beneath the smile's surface. "Honestly, I don't really understand why he upsets you so much. It's not as if he's any kind of threat to you."

Jack kicked the dirt under his shoe, frustrated. "I know that," he whispered, somewhat unconvincingly.

"You believe that he didn't kill all of those women, right?" she asked intensely.

Jack stared at her for a moment, confused. "What? Oh… Right. The murders. Yes, I know he's no actual threat… to society, at least."

"I'll try to persuade him not to go with us tomorrow," she assured him. "It shouldn't be too hard. I'll just have to… be nice to him." He turned his eyes towards hers, still trying to smile.

"All right. I guess I'll see you and your mother tomorrow."

"Right. At noon. Don't forget. You'll meet us there?"

"Fine. I'll see you then." He squeezed her hand softly before jumping into his car and driving away She watched after his car for several minutes. Finally, she forced herself to turn to the house, a sense of dread churning in her stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10_**

As Charles Oakley ascended the stairs, he was surprised to see a shadow fluttering about in Charlie's bedroom. Since he had never known anyone to 'flutter about' other than his sister, he naturally assumed it to be Emma. He strolled into the room nonchalantly, a warm smile glowing in his eyes. Naturally, he was rather startled to see that it was Charlie herself, grinning just as warmly at him.

"Oh, hi, Uncle Charlie!" she said pleasantly, opening her closet to pull out a fresh set of sheets. "You frightened me. I thought you were downstairs with Ann and Roger."

"No," he replied, watching her cautiously. Before he spoke, he made sure to close the door behind him. "And may I ask what caused this suddenly pleasant mood of yours?"

"Hmm?" she asked, only briefly glancing up as she tore the blankets off of her bed. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'm just happy because of Jack. Despite what you may think, he really is a wonderful man. I simply… _adore_ men like him."

"Right," he mumbled, handing her the top sheet to put down. "I could tell by the way you smiled and giggled excessively every time he spoke to you at dinner this evening."

"But I didn't-" she started, confused, until she noticed his malicious grin. Still, she tried to force herself to remain cheerful. "It's… not always easy to see it when someone's in love, Uncle Charlie."

"I disagree with you. Generally, it's _very_ easy to detect when someone's in love. Usually, they're either far too cheerful and one can hardly stand to be around them (which is how _you _are attempting to appear at the moment)… Or, they're so completely frustrated with their own emotions, one might think that they're quite depressed." Charlie watched him for a moment, trying to think of how she should respond.

"I'm afraid you're wrong about me," she said at last, still trying to sound sweet. "I definitely love Jack. There's no doubt about that. The thing of it is… I'm sorry, will you hand me that blanket… The thing of it is, I just don't know quite how to express myself when I'm around other people. Jack and I are the happiest when we're alone together. That's all. We enjoy doing absolutely everything together. But only when there aren't too many people around."

Charles thought for a moment, trying to discover what her purpose was for telling him all of this. At last, his eyes lit up and he turned to Charlie, still remaining as calm as before. "I think I know what you're telling me," he said at last, stretching himself across the bed.

"Really, Uncle Charlie, I just smoothed those sheets and now look at them. I'll have to redo it." She attempted to pull him off the bed so she could fix her work, but he refused to move.

"You don't want me to come with you tomorrow, is that it? Well, let me ask you, Charlie… Is it because you're afraid that if I see an old widow, I'll suddenly get the urge to do her in right then and there? Or… is it the more likely reason… that you're trying to keep Jack happy? He made it all too clear tonight that he has the same regards for me that I have for him. I bet that when you two were alone he asked you to persuade me to not come tomorrow. Is that it?" Despite the fact that he had discovered her motive, he still remained distant and cold, as though none of it bothered him in the least. It was all quite matter-of-fact to him, Charlie thought.

"Well… Not exactly. I mean he doesn't want you to come. But it was my idea to persuade you to stay. Please, won't you just leave us alone? It's bad enough that you're refusing to leave Santa Rosa, but must you make it so none of us have any peace now that you're here?"

"What have I done to upset any of you? As far as anyone's concerned, I'm just here for a family visit. I just want to see my favorite niece happy. But that doesn't necessarily mean that I want to see her marry."

"Jack Graham is a perfectly fine boy and-"

"Ah…" he interjected, still speaking in an even tone, despite the fact that Charlie had now officially lost her sangfroid. "A boy? There I'll agree with you, Charlie. He's nothing more than a boy. He doesn't understand anything more about women than a little child would. You might as well marry someone Roger's age."

"That's a terrible thing to say. And perhaps he doesn't know a lot about women, but at least he has the common decency not to murder them!"

"I admit, it was a rather amusing spectacle," he continued, ignoring her biting comment. "Watching him say goodnight to his soon-to-be wife. I'm sure your heart was racing as he took the liberty of… holding your hand."

She quickly turned her widened eyes to his, shocked. "You… You were watching us?"

"Tell me, Charlie," he said, rising from the bed and crossing towards her. "Has he ever even gotten the nerve to kiss you? Somehow I doubt he has. Actually, if I were to guess, I'd say that even if he wished to do so, you wouldn't allow it. In fact, just by looking at that innocent little face of yours, I'd say that you've never let anyone…"

Charlie opened her mouth, but there were simply no words there to use. Generally, she never had a problem defending herself when she was being verbally accosted. But his last words had left her so completely dumbfounded all she could manage to do was stutter.

"Well? Am I right, Charlie?" he asked, stepping towards her as she leaned against the door.

"How… How could you possibly know something like that?" she asked at last. He chuckled quietly, his face gleaming with triumph.

"I know _you_, Charlie. Better than he ever will." She stared at him for several seconds, still too startled to say anything in retaliation. Suddenly, the door was pushed open violently, pushing Charlie towards her uncle, who prevented her from falling onto the floor.

"Charlotte, Mother wants me to-" Ann's thoughts trailed off as she stared at them. Charlie's face had become unusually pale and as soon as she saw Ann, she promptly pulled as far away from her uncle as possible.

"Well, what is it, Ann?" she asked. "I do hate it when you stare at me like that."

"Oh… Um… Mother wants to know if you're planning on giving Uncle Charlie your room while he's here."

"I… suppose I am. I've already started to make the bed for him." She said, pointing towards the sheets, which needed to be smoothed again.

"Don't worry about fixing the bed, Charlie," Charles whispered. "You look quite tired. I'll take care of it myself… If I bother to go to bed."

Both nieces looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?" Charlie asked. "Don't you sleep?"

"Not really," he replied, placing his suitcase on the bed and opening it. "I'm never able to fall asleep. And when I do, it's usually full of such strange, disconcerting dreams, I generally prefer to just remain awake."

Despite the fact that he had said this calmly, his nieces continued to stare at him as he proceeded to empty his suitcase and hang several suits in Charlie's closet, next to the wedding gown.

Ann watched him closely. "You forgot to bring a tuxedo, Uncle Charlie. How can you go to a wedding without one?"

He smiled, first at Ann, then towards Charlie. "You're right, Ann. But perhaps I… might not need one."

Charlie naturally assumed that Ann would not catch on to his inner meaning, but as soon as she glanced down to her sister, she noticed that Ann had the same dark smile on her face as Charles had.

"Come on, Ann," she urged her. "Let's leave Uncle Charlie alone for now." At this, she pulled her sister out of the room, and couldn't help but notice that Charles continued to watch her right up until she closed the door behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

Herb Hawkins sat awkwardly on the edge of a sofa, waiting for Joe to enter the living room so they could commence with their homicidal speculation. He heard footsteps at the head of the stairs and felt himself rise awkwardly out of politeness when he saw Charles Oakley crossing down the stairs towards him. Charles smiled cordially, despite the fact that he seemed to be slightly agitated.

"Hello, Mr. Oakley. I think we met when you last visited," Herb whispered in his usual low, unconfident tone. Charles watched as Herb rubbed his index finger up and down the edge of the newspaper he was holding nervously.

"Yes, I think I remember you. I'm afraid I've forgotten your name though. It's quite rude of me, considering that you seem to remember me so well."

"Herb Hawkins, Mr. Oakley," Herb said quickly, holding his hand towards Charles. Charles shook it, still smiling.

"I'm surprised to see you here so late, Mr. Hawkins. Not that it's any of my business."

"Oh, I usually come over later now. Joe and I don't like to disturb the others when we have our discussions." At this, Joe Newton entered from the door at other side of the room.

"Hello, Herb. Sorry I made you wait. Emma needed me to go out to the garage to- Oh. I see you're getting acquainted with my wife's brother."

"We've met before," Charles explained, pulling a fresh cigar from his coat pocket. "I won't keep you from your discussions. I simply came down for a glass of water."

"Why don't you join us, Charles? Our discussions might be dull to someone as high up in the world as yourself, but who knows?"

"Well…" Charles had originally had no intention of staying downstairs, but to avoid being rude, he felt slightly obliged to accept Joe's offer.

"Unless of course you're tired. That's fine."

"No, Joe. I'm hardly ever tired."

"We'd be happy to include you in our discussion, Mr. Oakley," Herb said quietly.

Finally, after a moment of reluctance, Charles feigned a charming smile and nodded his head in affirmation. He seated himself in a chair next to the sofa and lit his cigar. Meanwhile, Joe searched excitedly for his mystery novel as Herb situated himself on the sofa, placing the newspaper on a table between Charles and himself. Charles lifted the paper and turned the pages absent-mindedly as Herb and Joe flipped through the pages of their books.

"This little Frenchman _still_ beats them all!" Herb said with a surprising amount of confidence as he pointed to the cover of the novel. Joe shook his head in disgust.

"There you're wrong, Herb. I've been telling you for the past two years that your little Frenchman uses the same cheap tricks in every novel. None of it's realistic. Where's your imagination, Herb?"

Herb sat up straight, slightly offended. "I'm telling you, Joe. These murders are far more plausible than what you read about in the news. Sometimes you have to wonder where the planning is when these common criminals go after their victims. They practically put themselves in prison."

"Really, Herb? And how would you commit the perfect murder?"

"I've told you before. It would have to involve poison. It's the only way."

"Most homicides that involve poison are detected."

"That's the point! Where would your murder mystery book be if no one knew it was a murder?"

"I'm not asking how you would write a book, Herb. I'm asking how _you_ would kill _me_!"

Herb was now becoming excited. "Nevertheless, I still think that poison would be the perfect choice!"

"There are many problems with poison. First of all, like I said, it's unlikely that you'd get away with it. Next, you gotta be careful with poison because an innocent party could always be at risk."

"And I'm telling you that no matter what method I use I'm at risk for being caught! Isn't that so?" Joe shook his head stubbornly. Desperate for some support, Herb turned to Charles, who was buried in his newspaper. "Um… Excuse me, Mr. Oakley. What would you say about it? Don't you think that poison would be a perfect murder weapon?"

Charles hardly glanced over the edge of the paper. He was quiet for a while, but eventually was able to speak. "No, Mr. Hawkins. Poison is traceable."

"Well, most things are traceable, Mr. Oakley." Herb never would have had this type of confidence if his perfect murder scenario was not under attack. "Leave one clue at the crime scene and it's traceable."

"That's why one should never use a _weapon_," Charles said quietly, wondering what was possessing him to engage in such a dangerous conversation.

Herb thought about this for several minutes. Finally his eyes lit. "Oh, you mean strangling. With your bare hands. I see…" Herb stared at his hands for a moment. "But some people wouldn't be strong enough to strangle others with their hands. What then?"

"What type of crime are we discussing?" Joe asked.

"Well… I don't know," Herb muttered. "What if I wanted to murder a mass number of victims?"

"What type of victims would you attack?" Joe asked.

"Probably… people who wouldn't be missed," Herb replied. He could have sworn that he heard Charles sigh at this. "What? Is that wrong?"

Charles glanced up, surprised. "No. Nothing. It's only that… If one were to… go on a killing spree… Do you really believe that the murderer would handpick the victims involved? Is it really a matter of logic or precise planning anymore? Killing sprees can't be planned out. They're… spontaneous… unique to each individual person- or, rather, killer. If every murderer were to think it through before going after his victims, how likely is it that any of them would be found?"

"So… what you're saying is that you would go after… any person you felt like killing? No planning?" Herb asked, confused.

Charles' eyes suddenly grew dark. "I'm not saying that I would go after anyone at all. However… if I were to… I think it would have to be a victim that… didn't contribute to the world… someone weak and helpless… always taking and spending but without any self respect or regard for other members of the human race… Those are the people to dispose of. They'd hardly me missed, I'm sure." Herb watched Charles, who no longer seemed to be speaking to anyone in particular. His thoughts had trailed off and his eyes were staring towards the carpet, expressionless.

"Well…" Herb began, grinning slightly. "I suppose I could always strangle an old lady."

Charles was no longer staring out into space. When he heard this, his head shot up and he stared at Herb fiercely. "What?" he demanded roughly tearing the paper in his perspiring hands.

Herb shifted uneasily. "I- I was only joking, Mr. Oakley. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just… you said… Never mind."

Charles slowly calmed himself, attempting to smile back at Herb, in order to ease the tension that he had built. "No. It's not that I was offended. I only…" He chuckled softly and turned his attention to the newspaper. "I'm sorry, Joe. It seems I destroyed your paper. I don't know what came over me."

"It's fine, Charles. I was finished with it anyway." Herb and Joe watched Charles as he rubbed his hand over the paper's tear, as though by doing so, it would suddenly repair itself.

"Perhaps I am slightly tired," Charles said, rising. "I beg your pardon. I think I need to go upstairs. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Hawkins."

Herb nodded and said a quiet, "Good evening," as Charles ventured towards the bedroom upstairs. As soon as he heard Charles close his door, Herb quietly turned towards Joe. "Did I say anything offensive, Joe?"

"No… Not really," Joe replied. "You mustn't mind Charles. He's a pleasant fellow, but sometimes is a bit 'on edge'. It's hard to explain. You'd have to ask Emma. She seems to know something about him that none of us can really understand… Except Charlie, of course. She's practically his double."

Herb grinned, still glancing towards the stairs every couple of seconds. "Still… I hope he knew I was joking. Actually, the only reason I said it was because for some reason, I remember a specific murder case that was popular when he was here two years ago. I don't know why I remember that it happened when he was visiting. But for some reason, as soon as you told me he was here, it made me think of it."

"Which case?" Joe asked, intrigued.

"Oh… I don't remember. The killer had some catchy name. I just remember he was killing rich old women… strangling them, I think. The murderer, that is."

"Oh right," Joe mumbled, disappointed. "That one never really interested me."

"I know," Herb said disapprovingly. "I thought it was quite interesting. Especially considering that the suspect ran directly into an airplane propeller when the police were tracking him. You know… technically, they hadn't any proof that it was him… but it was fairly obvious."

Joe did not seem to be listening any more. He was now quite involved with his book. Herb glanced up at the stairs once more. "Does seem a little strange though."

"What does?" Joe asked, not bothering to glance up.

"Oh, nothing. Never mind. I… just hope I didn't offend Mr. Oakley."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12_**

"I do hope we're not late," Emma said worriedly. Charlie was driving the car with Charles seated next to her and Emma in the backseat.

"We won't be late," Charlie assured her. She glanced over at Charles, whose eyes were fixed on the road ahead of them. He had been unusually quiet all morning and Charlie was slightly concerned about this. She wondered what type of malicious plan he was devising in that cruel, eerie mind of his.

After driving in silence for a short amount of time, Charlie was startled to hear Charles speak at last. "Emma, I hope you don't mind. I was hoping that perhaps after we return from the baker's shop, I might have Charlie take me around the town for the afternoon. We have much catching up to do, you know."

"Oh no! I don't mind at all," Emma said cheerily. Charlie shifted her eyes towards him in a panic.

"No!" she said intensely. "That is… I don't think I can today, Uncle Charlie. I have to work on the wedding invitations and- well, with the wedding coming up, I don't know how I could possibly spare an afternoon."

"Why, Charlie!" Emma exclaimed. "Your uncle came all the way to Santa Rosa and you can't even spare a few hours for him?"

Charlie stared ahead of her, not sure of how to respond. "Well, I'm sorry, Mother, but-"

"Don't apologize to me, dear," Emma replied. "I can take care of the invitations today. And you'll have all day tomorrow to work on them as well. I don't think you have any plans tomorrow, do you?"

"No, not exactly…" Charlie said quietly. "But still, I don't think that today is-"

"Don't worry, Charlie," Charles interjected with a disconcerting smile on his lips. "If you want to work on your invitations today, by all means do so."

Charlie glanced at him, quite positive that his smile signified that he was hiding something from her. "All right… Thank you very much."

"I'm sure if you did have free time this afternoon, you'd rather spend it with your fiancé anyway," Charles said, still smiling. She pretended that he had not spoken and continued driving.

At last they arrived at the baker's shop. Jack was already there and of course was not particularly pleased when he saw who had decided to accompany Charlie and Emma.

"We meet again, Mr. Oakley," he said. Though he grinned, his tone was somewhat less than enthusiastic. Charles gave him a slight nod and turned his eyes towards a short, older woman who was approaching them.

"Hello, Mrs. Newton!" the woman exclaimed, smiling brightly at Emma.

"Mrs. Lincoln! I can't thank you enough for doing this for my dear Charlie," Emma said, pulling Charlie towards her.

"Yes, thank you very much," Charlie said, trying to mask her distressed tone with cheeriness.

"I'm more than happy to help you, my dear," Mrs. Lincoln replied. "And who have you brought with you?" She was now looking at Charles, whose eyes had been fixed on her ever since they arrived.

"This is my brother, Charles Oakley," Emma replied. Charles removed his hat, smiling with his usual element of charm.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Oakley," Mrs. Lincoln said with a slight giggle. Charlie tried to suppress a sigh. She couldn't understand what it was that caused so many older women to fawn on him. Obviously it was due to his charming nature, but nevertheless she wished it could be different for obvious reasons. "Anyway, if you'd all come with me to the kitchen, I'll have you try several of my best choices." She led all four of them to the kitchen, where the counters were lined with tall plump cakes, gushing with icing of various colors. "Here we have white cakes… Chocolate cakes… red velvet… cinnamon… and of course maple cake, but I'm sure you wouldn't want that for a wedding cake."

Charlie glanced at several of the scrumptious desserts, not entirely certain of which to choose. "Ma'am, would it be possible for us to try samples?" she asked politely.

"Of course, my dear! That's why I wanted to have you today." Charlie continued to eye the cakes, not even noticing the fact that Charles was standing directly behind her.

"You should try the maple cake," he said quietly in her ear, causing her to jump.

She didn't reply but quickly moved a little further from him. "Really! Who would have a maple wedding cake? Shouldn't I have white or chocolate?"

"Well, that would be what the _average_ bride and groom might choose," he replied, cutting off a small sliver of maple cake and placing it on a plate before her. "But I doubt you're the average bride. I won't comment on the groom, however." As he said this, he noticed Jack approaching them.

"Charlie," Jack said, a plate of chocolate cake in his hand. "I think the chocolate would be best. Don't you?"

Charlie picked up a fork and took a small bite of chocolate cake from his plate. It was quite delicious. As delicious as an average chocolate cake should be. "Charlie," Charles called, once again standing directly behind her. She turned to him reluctantly and found him holding out the plate of maple cake. "Try this type. I'm certain that you'll love it." After a moment of hesitation, she lifted her fork and stabbed the smallest amount of cake from his plate. As the soft, sugary dough melted on her tongue, she couldn't help but smile. It was definitely superior to any dessert she had tried yet. It was far from average, to be sure. "Well?" Charles asked quietly. She forced the smile off her mouth and turned back to Jack, who was watching her with discontentment.

"Surely chocolate would be more appropriate for a wedding cake, Charlie," he said rather forcefully.

"Come, Charlie. Do you really care about what's 'appropriate'?" Charles asked, well aware that she would not be able to disagree with him. "It's your wedding, after all. Shouldn't you be happy with it?"

"Think of the guests, Charlie," Jack said, lifting the chocolate cake closer to her. "Here. Try this one again."

"Think of yourself, Charlie," Charles said. "Who will remember this cake in fifty years- your guests or you? And wouldn't it be delightful to stand out as being the bride who served maple cake at her wedding, rather than the average chocolate or white cake?"

"Nothing's wrong with being average," Jack said, clearly becoming annoyed.

"No, not for _some_ people," Charles replied, staring at him intensely. "But Charlie is hardly an average girl."

"Really," Emma interrupted. "I… think we're all taking this perhaps a little too seriously. After all, it's just a cake, isn't it?"

"Well, Charlie?" Jack asked, staring at her intensely. She stared back at him and eventually glanced up at Charles, who clearly had no intention of making any further comments on the subject.

"Well, as Mother said… It's not really something to take so seriously. It's just a cake… Perhaps… for the guests' sakes…. I'll just go with the…" She found herself looking up towards Charles, who had a judgmental expression on his face. She frowned deeply at this. Why did he feel that he had the right to judge her after all that he had done? "Chocolate," she said at last, with a tone of defiance in her voice as she stared at her uncle. If nothing else, she at least knew that Jack would be pleased. This was one source of relief for her. Charles subtly shook his head, placed his hands in his pockets, and casually strolled towards the other side of the kitchen. She had wanted to agitate him and prove that he no longer had any control over her. Yet, if this were the case, why did his disapproval still leave her with such a miserable feeling?

She stood near Mrs. Lincoln as she wrote down Charlie's order, continually glancing towards Charles, who still was distancing himself from the rest of the group. Jack had had the same idiotic grin on his face for the past five minutes and Charlie was beginning to feel exasperated by it. "Jack…" she said at last. "Could you… go out to our car? I'm feeling a little chilly and would like my jacket, if you wouldn't mind." Eager to please her, Jack passed by Charles triumphantly and exited the kitchen.

As Mrs. Lincoln wrote, Charlie noticed her constantly glancing up at Charles with a bright grin on her face. Charlie couldn't help but feel a little awkward witnessing this. At last Mrs. Lincoln spoke in a low whisper. "It's nice that your uncle came with you today, Charlie."

Charlie hardly wished to respond, but was obligated to do so. "Yes, of course it was."

"Where's he from?" Mrs. Lincoln asked, still watching him.

"He lives in the east. He hardly ever stays in one spot for very long," Charlie replied quietly.

"Such a nice, charming gentleman! You don't see very many of those!"

Charlie hesitated before replying. "Yes, he definitely has his _charm_."

"And of course…" Now Mrs. Lincoln was speaking in such a quiet whisper Charlie herself had a hard time hearing her. "He's quite a handsome fellow." Charlie definitely did not wish to respond to this, but Mrs. Lincoln would not allow her to avoid it. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Charlie glanced towards him, not meaning to stare, but finding it difficult not to do so. As soon as his eyes met her own, she turned her head back towards Mrs. Lincoln. "He's… without doubt… One of the handsomest men I have ever seen." Charlie could hardly believe that she had said this. She certainly never meant to sound quite so enthusiastic about it and was slightly worried that her tone had raised when she spoke. She glanced towards him once again to see if he had heard her, but he was still looking over the various cakes, quite oblivious to their secret conversation.

"Yes," Mrs. Lincoln said, no longer bothering to pretend that she was writing. "It's a shame that you don't look a thing like him." Charlie raised her eyebrows in shock. "Oh!" Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed. "Dear! I didn't- I didn't mean it like that! Oh, I misspoke. You're quite a pretty little thing to be sure. It's just that I'm surprised-" Before she continued, she checked her volume. "I'm surprised that you don't look anything like your uncle. Generally family characteristics can be seen throughout generations. You look quite similar to your mother but… I don't know. Your uncle doesn't really look a thing like any of you." Charlie found herself staring at him once again. She had never noticed this before, but was quite surprised to see that what Mrs. Lincoln said was rather accurate. Before this conversation could continue, Jack reentered the kitchen with Charlie's jacket.

"Here you are, dear," he said, attempting to help her into it.

"Really, Jack!" she snapped, taking the jacket away. She could tell from his expression that her irritability had startled him. "I mean… I'm sorry. But I think I can put the jacket on by myself."

After several minutes, the four of them made their way out of the baker's shop and strolled towards their separate vehicles.

"Oh, Charlie, before I forget," Jack said, crossing towards her. "I'm afraid that I won't be able to see you tomorrow. I'm being called away to San Diego for a few days. They won't tell me exactly what's happening, but apparently an old case is being reopened and I've been asked to look into it. I tried desperately to get out of it." At this, he glanced coldly towards Charles. "But for some reason they're insisting that I come. I'm afraid I can't escape this time."

"That's all right," Charlie said indifferently. "I'll see you in a few days then."

Jack smiled and leaned in to kiss her. But as always, as though it had become a matter of habit, she turned her cheek towards him. He pecked it briefly, waved to the others, giving Charles one last negative glance, and made his way to his car. Charlie noticed for the first time that Charles had started to smile. It was the same malicious smile that he had used the night before when he was taunting her in her bedroom. She let out a small groan of embarrassment, wishing for the first time in her life, that she had just gotten up the nerve to kiss Jack right then and there in front of that cruel, smiling agitator. But that would be a rather ridiculous thing to do simply to prove a point.

They all got into the car and Charlie drove towards the house. No one spoke a word the entire ride, until they pulled into the drive way and Charlie put the car in park. Then, Charles turned towards the backseat to speak to Emma.

"I have an idea," he said pleasantly. "You two should work on the invitations today. Get as many finished as you like. I promise I won't bother you." Charlie would have been relieved, but somehow she knew that there must be a catch. "But…" he continued. Charlie closed her eyes in dread. Her suspicions had been correct. "Tomorrow, since Charlie has nothing better to do, I think I'd like to take her on an outing. A day trip, if you will. Her fiancé won't be here to distract her and since the wedding won't require much of her time, I think it would be the opportune day for us to catch up."

"Oh! That sounds lovely! Doesn't it Charlie?" Emma was so pleased with the idea, that she didn't even notice the look of abject horror on Charlie's face.

"Well, Charlie? Isn't it _lovely_?" he asked tauntingly. "Of course, we wouldn't have done anything quite so time-consuming or extravagant had you agreed to go with me today…"

"That's just marvelous, Charles!" Emma stated. "If you had agreed to go out today, Charlie, you wouldn't have been able to spend nearly as much time together. Now you'll have an entire day!"

"She's right, Charlie," he added, still smiling mockingly.

At last, Charlie found her tongue. "I… I don't know."

"What's wrong now?" Emma asked, surprisingly impatient with her daughter. "Charlie, if you keep making excuses as to why you can't associate with him, your uncle is bound to think that you don't even _want_ to see him!"

"My feelings will be terribly crushed if you deny me this outing," Charles said, knowing that she was quite trapped now. Charlie sat in the driver's seat, turning from her uncle to her mother, both of whom were quite set against her happiness.

"Fine," she said at last. "If it's really that important to both of you."

Emma smiled merrily, climbing out of the car. "Come, Charlie. We'll do as much today as we can in preparation for the wedding. That way you won't have to worry at all tomorrow. You can just enjoy your day with your favorite uncle!"

The other two stalled a bit while Emma entered the house, not even noticing that they were no longer following her. Once she was out of sight, Charlie turned to her uncle defiantly.

"What is this? Some kind of punishment for not choosing your favorite type of cake?"

"Why would you say that?" Charles asked innocently. "Do you think of spending the day with me as a 'punishment'?" His voice was filled with artificial pain. They were interrupted by the arrival of her younger sister, who was strolling around the corner of the house, a book in hand.

"For heaven's sake, keep your voice down."

"She's enraptured in a novel. I doubt she cares to listen to us," he replied irritably.

"I don't know." Charlie eyed Ann suspiciously. "I'm never quite sure just what she 'cares to hear'."

"What do you want me to tell you, Charlie?" he asked impatiently.

"Nothing!" she whispered threateningly, glancing from him to Ann, who still hadn't looked up from her book. Charlie stood by the car for a moment staring pensively at the ground. "We'll continue this conversation later," she said at last, crossing towards the backstairs to the house.

"I never doubted it," he replied, smiling dryly. At this, he walked towards the front porch and entered the house, slamming the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

Charles sat in the car parked directly outside of the Newton's home. He glanced down at his watch impatiently, wondering what was possibly taking Charlie so long. At last, about ten minutes later, Charlie opened the front door and trudged towards the car, a look of discontentment on her face.

"No need to be so grim, Charlie," he said as she sat next to him in the car.

"No?" she asked, glaring at him. "Why are you driving? I usually drive."

"Not when you don't know where you're going," he quipped, driving down the street slowly.

"Well you could always tell me where we're going."

"No," he said resolutely. "That I can't tell you. However, I promise that wherever we end up, it will be _far_ from Santa Rosa."

"And what are we doing exactly?" she asked, curiosity starting to get the better of her.

"Whatever you'd like, dear," he said. "It's my intention to completely indulge you in any way I can. Before the day is out, you'll be the most pampered, spoiled little thing, I'm sure no one will be able to stand you."

"I'm hardly a child anymore," she mumbled, staring out the window. "I hope you don't think that you can _buy_ my affection."

"No, I'm perfectly aware that that's impossible," he replied, glancing towards her. "However, there's no reason for me not to try."

She sighed, annoyed. "And how long are you planning on keeping me out this evening? I told Jack that I'd call him tonight."

"I wish you hadn't told him that, Charlie," he said with an unhappy glance.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. However, I still need to know when I can expect to be returning to my home."

Charles smiled and stared ahead. "I assure you that you won't be making that phone call. By the time I'm finished with you today, I doubt that you'll even remember to call Jack."

She turned to him, slightly frightened. "What do you mean, when you're 'finished' with me? Are you planning on finally doing me in? Is that it? It's not enough that you tried to break my neck two years ago. Now you're taking me out… Oh dear… You're taking me to a quiet, secluded area, aren't you? That's where you could finally-" her voiced trailed off as an expression of terror plagued her features.

"Charlie, please!" he grumbled. "I am _not_ going to kill you. I've changed and quite frankly I'm tired of trying to convince you of that. Now please stop being so unreasonable. You know, if you allowed yourself to calm down, you might actually end up having a nice time with me today."

"I doubt it," she flipped. He rolled his eyes, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal. Charlie clutched at the door nervously. "Are you planning on crashing the vehicle?"

He grinned darkly and turned his eyes towards her for a brief moment. "Not used to speed, I see. But how could you be, growing up in a small, sleepy town like Santa Rosa?"

"Yes, I know what you're getting at, Uncle Charlie. I'm just the small town girl with little experience in the world. Now it's time for you to show me the world and all that it can offer me. Is that what this little day trip is about? Is it your way of convincing me that I could do better than Santa Rosa and all those living here?"

"Nonsense," Charles said. "After all, Jack doesn't live in Santa Rosa. Or does he? I can never tell."

Charlie ignored him and rested her head on the window. She yawned quietly, feeling her eyelids beginning to close. She perked her head up quickly. As fatigued as she was, she certainly could not trust her companion enough to fall asleep, even if it were only for a few minutes.

Apparently, Charles had noticed this. "Charlie, didn't you sleep last night? It would be a shame for you to be exhausted all day. You should sleep for a while now. We won't be where we're headed for at least an hour."

She scoffed. "Why do I have the feeling I'd wake up at the bottom of a river with a rope around my throat? That is, if I awoke at all."

"Suit yourself," he muttered irritably. He did not say another word the rest of the drive and though she tried to fight it, Charlie soon found herself drifting into a most pleasant, relaxing state of unconsciousness.

************************************************************************

"Charlie," he called, gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes slowly opened, immediately being accosted by blinding rays of sunlight. She covered them with her hand and rubbed her temples. After a moment, she was able to look around herself. They were currently parked outside of a tall, ornate building covered in complex carvings.

"Where are we?" she asked, staring up at the building.

"It doesn't matter _where_ we are," he replied. "Come. Let's go in before some of the other rich old hens fill the place." She stared at him curiously, hoping that he would elaborate. However, he didn't say a word, exited the car and opened her door for her, a charming expression still glowing in his eyes. "Well, come along, dear. We don't have all day. We have much to do."

She stared at him for a moment before reluctantly stepping onto the street. She grasped at her hat as she lifted her chin, still examining the building with amazement.

"Don't tell me you've never seen a dress shop before," he said, watching her with amusement.

"Of course I have. But never one this tall. Or, at least not in Santa Rosa." He chuckled quietly, taking her arm and leading her inside.

A tall, thin distinguished woman wearing spectacles greeted them, eying Charlie with a surprising amount of concern in her expression. "Good morning. How may I be of service to the two of you?" she asked with a large smile.

"I'm here to indulge her with a few presents," Charles said, glancing at Charlie, who stepped away, taken aback.

"Oh, isn't that nice," the woman replied, still looking over Charlie judgmentally. "Not every husband would be thoughtful enough to accompany his wife to a dress fitting."

"No, I suppose not," Charles replied, still smiling. Charlie looked up at him, surprised.

"If you'll follow me," the woman said, gesturing to the room adjacent to them.

"Uncle Charlie," Charlie whispered as they slowly followed her. "Why didn't you correct her? You're not my-"

"Please," he interrupted. "It doesn't really matter, does it? Just nod and be polite."

Before she could say anything else, the saleswoman was turning on several bright lights, revealing dozens of meticulously posed mannequins clad in the most modern, fashionable garb Charlie had ever seen in real life. As soon as she entered, Charlie completely forgot what she had been saying and slowly scrutinized each individual dress.

"What type of dress are you looking for?" the saleswoman asked.

"Oh, I really don't think-" Charlie began, but of course was immediately cut off by her uncle.

"What's considered to be the most fashionable evening gown that you carry?" he asked.

"Oh," the saleswoman began, beaming with delight. "Definitely this one." She gestured behind him. He examined the gown closely, Charlie slowly crossing to look at it as well.

"And what makes this one so special?" he asked, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic about it.

"Well," she began, running her hand over the hem. "The skirt is made out of a very light chiffon with fine silk petticoats under it. That's what causes the fullness of it."

"Yes," he mumbled, approaching the dress. "Come, Charlie. Look closer." At this, he pulled her towards the gown. She stared at it in amazement.

"Also," the saleswoman continued. "There's subtle glass beading on the bodice, as you can see. It's not very noticeable, but definitely stands out under soft evening lights." Charlie ran her fingers gently over the glass beading, unaware that Charles was watching her contently.

"The sleeves… Well, there aren't any, really. Just these small straps. Wouldn't I- I mean _anyone_ who wore it become rather chilly in it?" Charlie asked, turning her head towards the saleswoman.

"It depends on the setting, of course," she replied, still smiling artificially.

"Not that it matters," Charlie said, turning her eyes to the ground. "I… would never have the occasion to wear something this nice anyway."

"No?" Charles asked. "Miss… I'm sorry. I don't believe I caught your name."

"Miss Simon, Sir," she replied.

"Miss Simon, would it be possible for the lady to try on this gown?" Charlie stared up towards him in shock.

"But I-"

"Would it?" he repeated, ignoring Charlie.

"Well, yes, of course," Miss Simon replied. "If you'll follow me, Madam." She gestured towards a door. "Some of my fellow colleagues will assist you."

"I don't think this is necessary," Charlie whispered forcefully to him.

"Charlie, will you please just go along with this? I only want to see how pretty you'll look in it. It's all for fun. You might as well do it now. What are the odds you'll be able to do anything like this once you're…" He stopped himself when he noticed Miss Simon watching them curiously. "Don't worry, Charlie. Just go."

Charlie slowly crossed towards the door, her eyes still fixed on him with concern.

"If you'll just follow my colleague Mrs. Foster," Miss Simon said, closing the door behind Charlie. Charles continued to stroll about the dress gallery. "Is there anything else your wife might be interested in, Sir?"

"Hmm?" he asked, glancing towards her. "Oh… What type of dresses do you have that she could wear on a more regular basis? As I see you've noticed, she generally doesn't wear the type of clothing you have here. But I'd like to buy her something… more fashionable."

"Naturally," Miss Simon replied. "She's very lovely. Over here we have some of our more common day dresses. This one is our most popular choice." She gestured towards another mannequin. "The skirt falls below the knee, as you can see. The sleeves extend below the elbow. The entire dress is made of a fine silk. It's available in several colors."

"Does it come in dark green?" he asked, turning to her. "I'd like it to suit her eyes."

"Yes, actually. It does. Should I have her try this one as well?"

"Yes, do," he replied. Behind him, the door opened and Charlie stepped awkwardly into the room, clad in the soft lavender gown. She stood awkwardly as the other two examined her. Charles' lips formed into a bright smile as he slowly walked towards her, looking her up and down several times. "Well…" he began. "Aren't you a sight?"

She frowned, concerned. "You don't like it. I must look silly."

"No, not at all," he replied, still examining it. "Turn for me. I'd like to see the back." She hesitantly did as she was told, sighing to convey the message that this entire ordeal was nothing more than a waste of time. "Charlie, you've never looked lovelier," he said at last. She looked up, surprised. She was not entirely certain what she should say to this.

"Well… Thank you. It's a beautiful dress, I'll admit."

"It's more than a beautiful dress," he replied. "All right, Miss Simon. Box it up for us." Charlie whipped her head towards him.

"Uncle Charlie!" she exclaimed. At this, Miss Simon turned to them, dumbfounded.

"Never mind," he said resolutely. "Go back where you were. There's another dress I want you to try on."

"But you can't buy this gown for me. I'll never wear it! I'll have no occasion to wear it!"

"I'll make sure to give you the chance to wear it. Now go on," he demanded, leading her towards the door. Once she returned to the fitting room, Charles crossed back to Miss Simon, who was still slightly wide-eyed.

"Sir," she began sheepishly. "I do beg your pardon. I only assumed that she was your-"

"Never mind," he said dismissively. "I'm assuming you'll accept cash for these items?"

She stared at him for a moment, still feeling rather embarrassed. "Oh… Well, yes. Of course."

"Very well," he muttered, pulling out a handful of cash from his inner coat pocket. "You'll have to excuse me. I always carry cash around. This should cover both dresses." He handed her several bills. She inconspicuously flipped through them, her mouth dropping open.

"Yes, I'd say it would," she said. "Here, let me give you change-"

"Don't worry about the change. Consider it your own personal bonus. Just go make certain that the other dress fits so we won't be here any longer than is necessary."

As Miss Simon scurried towards the other side of the room, Charles continued strolling around the room absent-mindedly. After approximately fifteen minutes, Charlie entered the room, wearing the dark green day dress. He sighed contently as he stared at her. She couldn't help but grin back now.

"You like it?" he asked, pulling her arm through his own.

"How couldn't I?" she replied. Suddenly, she saw that he was leading her out of the building. "Uncle Charlie! We can't leave. I have to go change back into-"

"Don't worry, Charlie," he said. "It's all paid for. Miss Simon will be out in a moment with your other purchase, as well your old dress."

"Other purchase? Oh, Uncle Charlie, please tell me you didn't buy that gown!" she exclaimed. "I'll never be able to wear it!"

"You will tonight," he replied, opening the car door for her. "Over here, Miss Simon!" Miss Simon quickly crossed to the car and handed him several boxes.

"Thank you very much for your patronage," she said pleasantly. "We hope to see you again."

"Well… Perhaps someday," he replied. "Farewell." Charlie waved her hand meekly towards Miss Simon as Charles sat in the driver's seat and pulled away from the shop.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter 14_**

"It's really rather nice that your uncle took Charlie out for the entire day," Emma said, climbing a rickety ladder into the attic. Ann was seated there with her legs crossed, looking through several old magazines she found scattered across the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust. "Now I have time to look for that necklace."

"Mother, why would you keep an old necklace in the attic? You're not likely to wear it very often if it's up here," Ann remarked, watching her curiously.

"Well, I suppose it's ridiculous, but I always figured that if we were robbed, the burglar would never think to look up in the attic. This necklace belonged to my great-great grandmother. It's been passed down through every generation of Oakley women since then. And every Oakley woman has worn it on her wedding day."

"Oh, I think I understand," Ann said. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue… The necklace is the 'something old' for Charlie?"

"Yes, that's right. Help me, Ann. I'll never be able to find it on my own." Ann reluctantly stood and wiped off the front of her dress. "All right," Emma mumbled, looking at a large pile of random trinkets and boxes. "I know it was in a small wooden box. There are so many of them though… Here, how about I start digging through this pile for boxes and you look through them for me. All right?"

"Fine," Ann muttered unenthusiastically. "What does it look like?"

"It's a string of pearls with a small white opal situated in the middle."

Emma dug through the pile and handed Ann several small boxes, not bothering to examine any of them. Ann sighed and began searching through each one. "How many boxes are there?" she asked.

"I haven't an idea, Ann. Please don't complain now. It's very important that I find it."

Ann felt the need to question why her mother would toss a priceless family heirloom into the attic without giving it its own designated place, but decided to remain silent. By her fourth box, Ann was beginning to become impatient. She wondered if this was a rather pointless venture, but knew that her mother would never rest till she discovered the necklace. Therefore, Ann persevered through her ennui. As she opened her tenth box and began scanning through its contents, she at last found some items that were of interest to her. However, none of them were the prized necklace. She lifted several papers from the small box and read through them, intrigued. After several minutes, Emma noticed that Ann had stopped searching. She turned to her and almost immediately recognized the box in her daughter's hands.

"Ann!" she squealed, snatching the box and papers from her. "Don't read- I mean… That's not the right box. Please, you don't need to stop and look through each individual one. Just try to find the necklace." Ann stared at Emma, startled. Emma had never reacted so strongly to anything Ann had done. Even though she attempted to smile cheerily, she refused to release her grip on the box. Finally, once Ann continued searching through the other items, Emma inconspicuously placed the box on a shelf on the opposite side of the attic. Though Ann continued with her search, she felt her eyes constantly turning towards the source of mystery on the shelf. After a half hour, Ann at last grinned with relief.

"Here, Mother. I found it."

"Oh!" Emma said, beaming as she gently took the necklace from Ann. "It's just lovely, isn't it? I think it needs to be cleaned though. I better take it to a jeweler."

"You should do so today," Ann suggested.

"What? Why?" Emma asked.

"Well…" Ann's eyes glanced towards the shelf. "Charlie isn't here. She might become suspicious if you leave one day and won't tell her where you're going."

"Nonsense," Emma said, giggling. "I'll just make up something."

"Mother!" Ann exclaimed with a false tone of shock. "Do you mean that you'd _lie_ to Charlie?"

"Oh! Well, no. I… I mean it would only be a little white lie, Ann."

"Nevertheless!" Ann corrected, unable to turn her attention from the box behind Emma. "A white lie is _still_ a lie."

"Oh, well…" Emma looked down guiltily. "Fine. I suppose you're right. I'll leave for just a short while. You'll look after your brother while I'm gone?"

"He doesn't need to be looked after… But, all right. I will if you need me to."

Emma climbed down the ladder and waited for Ann to follow her. "Ann… Do hurry."

"Just a minute," Ann replied. After a moment, she clumsily made her way down the ladder.

"Ann… Were you wearing that heavy coat while you were up there?" Emma asked, staring at her daughter's bizarre wardrobe choice.

"I… just put it on. I was cold." Emma nodded her head, though she was still slightly confused over how her daughter could possibly wear a heavy coat after being in that stifling attic. Before she could question her further, Ann had run towards the house.

"All right. Like I said, I'll be back within the hour," Emma called out.

"That's fine," Ann replied from inside the house.

************************************************************************

Ann watched from her window as Emma strolled down the street in the direction of the jeweler's. Once she was out of sight, Ann closed her eyes and sighed quietly. She closed her door and after taking one more glance out the window, unbuttoned her coat and pulled out the forbidden object that Emma had tried to keep her from seeing. She threw her jacket on a chair and sat with the box on the floor behind her bed.

She opened the lid and glanced in, slowly lifting the papers that she had previously been skimming. She recommenced with her reading and the longer she did so, the more consumed she became with the knowledge she was gaining…

Suddenly, she heard the front door close downstairs and Emma's footsteps slowly moved towards the staircase. Her hands shaking, Ann frantically gathered all of the papers she had been reading and shoved them back into the box, pushing it under her bed and covering it with a blanket. She took a deep breath and waited for her mother to enter. Had it really been an hour since she started reading? Then again, she thought, with the information she had been absorbing during that period of time, it wasn't really all that surprising that time had passed so quickly.

"Ann," Emma called. "Is your brother outside?"

"The last I saw, he was in his room," she replied, trying to keep her voice from quaking. Fortunately, Emma did not bother to enter but walked in the direction of Roger's room.

Ann grinned nervously to herself, wondering what had possessed her to take the box. Was this the type of knowledge with which she really wanted to be burdened? Would she be able to contain herself, especially _now _of all times? And if she couldn't… Would it really be so terrible? What would be the worst thing that could happen if she revealed this dark secret? She continued to grin deviously at the idea.

"Well…" she whispered to herself, struggling to her feet. "It answers one question… Now I see why they wouldn't look anything alike."


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15_**

"A museum," Charlie remarked as they made their way up a set of steps. "How very urbane."

"Museums are under-appreciated," Charles remarked, opening the door for her.

"I think you should have taken Ann," Charlie replied, glancing about the hall of the museum. "She's the genius in our family."

"As I recall, my dear, you were at the top of your class," he reminded, crossing to a ticket counter. She watched him intently as he purchased two tickets, smiling with his usual charm. She had been staring at him like this all day. She wasn't really sure why. How could she be gazing at him now, after all that he had done to her, the exact same way she did when he was still her perfect Uncle Charlie? She stared at the walls pensively. All day he had been calling her his 'dear'. She hated it when Jack called her that. She wasn't _his _dear, even if she _was_ marrying him. Somehow, it didn't bother her nearly as much when her current companion said it. It sounded more natural or something. Perhaps it was more genuine. She glanced towards him, noticing that he was gesturing for her to walk towards him. "Here's your ticket," he said, handing it to her. She looked at it and then up at him.

"Well?" she asked. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" He gazed at her, honestly unaware of what he was expected to say.

"All right. You still aren't going to tell me. Fine. I'll keep guessing."

"What are you chattering about?" he asked, leading her towards the exhibits.

"I'm asking you why we're here. That's what I'm 'chattering' about."

"To see unique pieces of art and history, of course," he whispered. "And also because I feel compelled to show you off in that stunning dark green dress. You know, ladies often prowl about these types of places, judging other women and what they're wearing. No need to be worried though. You are by far superior to any woman in the general vicinity." At this, Charles grinned and glanced about the room, as though he were checking his statement. "Yes, as I said, _by far_ superior."

Though she was still trying her best to remain cold with him, she soon felt herself succumbing to the amusement of his game. "That's not what I mean, Uncle Charlie," she said, suppressing a smile. "You know… Maybe you have changed. Nevertheless… If your plan isn't to kill me, what is it? Or perhaps this is the plan. You're buying me expensive gifts and being irresistibly charming so I'll be distracted and won't expect your attack." As serious as the subject was, Charlie seemed to be joking now. She couldn't possibly be forgiving him for all that had happened. What he had done and tried to do was unforgivable. But the longer she was with him, the more she wished she could simply forget about it… at least for the day.

"I can't really answer you, Charlie. However, it's nice to see that you have observed my 'irresistible charm'. Come this way," he said, taking her arm and leading her towards a painting. "Just stare at it, Charlie," he whispered from behind her. "Absorb the intricacy that only a truly magnificent work of art can display."

"Really, Uncle Charlie," she said, smiling awkwardly. "I never took you for a lover of art."

"I'm a lover of many things," he said, grinning at her warmly. For some reason, the tone in his voice as he said this made Charlie feel slightly uncomfortable. She gently pulled her arm away from his grasp and moved towards the other side of the room, strolling past several sculptures and paintings.

In the middle of the room was a large, flamboyant sculpture, made entirely of crystal. Both Charles and Charlie were drawn to it and, without realizing that the other was on the exact opposite side of the exhibit, stared towards it in wonder. They ran their eyes from the very top of the statue down to the base. It was at this point that they perceived each other through the crystal. Charlie couldn't help but laugh quietly. They slowly made their way around the sculpture, meeting at a middle point.

"You know, there are several stories," he said quietly. "We shouldn't spend our entire day on this floor."

"Nonsense. We've only been here for a few minutes," Charlie said, looking down at his wristwatch.

"Is that all?" he asked, glancing down at the time as well. Suddenly, he noticed something a bit out of the ordinary. "You know," he said, lifting her hands in his. "If you're going to wear fashionable dresses, you really should buy gloves. Small, white gloves…"

"No," she said, pulling her hands away quickly. He looked up, concerned. "That is… I don't think I need gloves. I think you've bought me enough today."

He slowly smiled, though his eyes still conveyed an expression of confusion. "I could never buy you enough. I enjoy buying you presents. You're my own little pet."

She turned away, distressed. "I'm not your pet…" she said quietly. Though she refused to look at him, she could feel his eyes on the back of her neck. She glanced up, noticing several women examining them and chattering quietly. "Maybe we should continue," she whispered, still unable to turn to him.

"Fine," he said quietly. Instead of taking her arm in his, he pointed towards the elevator.

The next hour passed in an unpleasant silence. Charlie wasn't entirely sure why she had reacted the way she did. After all, he had been treating her like his own 'pet' all day. Granted, it was not her choice to be there. Nevertheless, she simply couldn't see what had caused her to snap at him. And more importantly, why had her hands been shaking ever since he lifted them? She wasn't necessarily frightened of him. However she did wish that he wouldn't hold her so often, especially in public. People were bound to get the wrong impression about them and he already proved in the dress shop that he did not care to correct them. She realized that perhaps she had overreacted a bit. And if people had the wrong impression, that was not her fault. What could they possibly do or say about her? For all they knew, he _could_ be her husband.

When she was younger, Charlie always enjoyed showing him off to her friends. If she walked with him, she reveled in the idea that people were wondering who he was and how he knew her. Why did it bother her so much now? Certainly their relationship had changed infinitely within the past two years. But what did his past have to do with her current dilemma? She was clearly being rather ridiculous. When she first acquiesced to joining him on this day trip, she had hoped that it would pass quickly. But the longer she was there, the more she found herself enjoying his company… sort of like old times. Only different…

Charlie crossed to him slowly as he stared up at a tapestry. After a few moments, he turned his eyes to her, no longer smiling with his usual charm. But after staring at her sweet face for a short amount of time, he soon found himself grinning once more and taking her arm in his.

"If you're bored here, we can always go elsewhere," he suggested.

"Oh no. I'm not bored at all. It's just that… I prefer looking at the paintings when you're telling me about them."

He chuckled softly. "Well, I suppose I can offer my opinion, if you'd like."

"I'd like," she replied, slowly approaching yet another tall, brilliant portrait with him at her side.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16_**

"Devereux's?" Charlie asked, staring out the car window. "What's this?"

"It's a French restaurant," Charles replied, pulling into the parking lot. "I've never actually been here, but I heard from several people at the museum that the food and atmosphere are outstanding. And of course it requires formal attire."

She turned her head towards him, surprised. "Formal attire? Oh… So this is what you were referring to when you told me that I'd have the occasion to wear the gown. But what about you?"

"What about me?" he asked.

"Well…" She was not entirely certain how to approach the question. "If they require formal attire… It's not that you don't look fine. It's just-" As she spoke, she didn't even notice him rummaging through the backseat. Finally, he pulled up a large bundle, revealing a tuxedo. As soon as she perceived what it was, she smiled, relieved. "Oh. I see. Well, if this restaurant requires you to wear a tuxedo, I fear I won't have any idea of how to act while I'm here."

"You'll be fine, dear. Anyway, it's almost eight o'clock. We should hurry."

"This day's gone by so quickly," she remarked.

"Yes, I know. And you must admit, you're having a much better time than you thought you would." She turned her eyes towards him, unable to deny this.

"Wait…" she said, eying the tuxedo. "I thought you said that you didn't bring a tuxedo."

He smiled deviously. "Did I? What I remember saying was that I might not have the occasion to wear a tuxedo. Apparently I was wrong. Anyway, we should change before selecting a table."

He opened the door for her and lifted her gown's box from the backseat. They entered the restaurant and took a moment to locate the various dressing rooms. After several minutes, Charles returned to the lobby in his tuxedo and waited patiently for her to arrive. At last, after another five minutes or so, Charlie entered in her gown, her cheeks glowing brightly.

He watched her as she crossed to him, unable to avert his eyes. She stared up at him expectantly. Finally, after a moment, she felt the need to break the silence. "Well… I suppose now's the point where you'll tell me how marvelous I look in my dress, giving me your charming smile." But to her surprise, he did not do so. Rather, he took her arm in his familiar way and brought her to the headwaiter, who led them to a small table near the marble ballroom floor. A string quartet was playing softly on the opposite end of the dining room. Charlie observed the quaint bouquet of crimson roses situated in the middle of the table. She felt compelled to lift one, but decided not to do so. Such actions would probably be frowned upon in such a formal setting. Charles hadn't looked up from his menu since they sat at the table.

"Monsieur," a waiter said, approaching their table. "May I tell you and your wife about our most popular dishes?"

"She's not my wife," Charles said quickly. "And… No. I think I know what we'll order. Just give us… several of your best dishes. Make that all of your best dishes." She looked up, still shocked by his extravagance.

"Very good, Monsieur," the waiter said, raising both eyebrows as he departed from their table. Just as he left, another waiter approached with a bottle in one hand and several champagne flutes in the other.

"May I offer you champagne?" he asked.

"Charlie, would you like some?" Charles asked, still staring at his menu.

"Oh…" She muttered, staring at the bottle. "I've never had champagne before. Actually… to tell the truth… the most I've ever drank was a glass of wine once when I was ill."

"Give us a bottle of your best champagne," Charles said, reluctant to depart from his menu. Charlie watched his curiously.

"Uncle Charlie, is something the matter?" she asked, watching him as he fidgeted with his napkin.

"No, nothing's the matter," he said, still carefully scrutinizing the napkin.

"You seem to be acting strangely," she observed.

"I'm fine, Charlie. No need to worry about me."

Charlie slowly turned her head, taking in every pleasurable sight that she could find. The second waiter returned to their table with their champagne bottle and filled several flutes for them. Charlie sipped hers, slowly at first. But the more she drank, the better it tasted. Eventually, she was beginning to feel warmer. Apparently she didn't have any reason to worry about feeling cold in this dress after all. She could feel the tension in her shoulders slowly beginning to relax. Charles still hadn't looked up from his napkin. Eventually the food came. She ate as much as she could without becoming ill. It was possibly the most delicious food she had ever placed in her mouth. Charles was enjoying it as well. However, he still refused to look up from his plate.

This was beginning to annoy Charlie. And the more champagne she drank, the bolder she felt and the more likely she was to tell him so. Finally, by the time she had consumed half of the bottle, she felt she had the courage to call him on this.

"Uncle Charlie," she called loudly. He looked up, startled.

"What's wrong? Is the food decent?"

"Of course the food's delicious," she said, grinning at him. He attempted to grin back but soon turned his eyes back down to the plate. What on earth was causing his sudden bad humor? Suddenly, she felt herself rise from the table.

"I would like to dance," she declared. He looked up at her, surprised by her candor.

"I…uh," he mumbled, patting his lips with his napkin. "I'm… not a particularly exquisite dancer, Charlie."

"I don't care. I want to dance." She could tell that she now sounded like a stubborn child, but for some reason it did not matter. She picked up her champagne flute and finished its contents. Clearly Charles was not attempting to rise from his seat.

All of a sudden, Charlie crossed to him and pulled him from his chair, leading him to the dance floor, nearly knocking him off his balance as she did so. She knew that people were watching and talking now.

"Charlie…" he whispered fiercely. She stared up at him, confused.

"What's wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Is that why you won't dance with me?" she asked, finding herself to be speaking louder and louder.

"No," he said quietly. "This was a mistake." He quickly tracked down their waiter and paid the bill as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, she watched him… Or, at least attempted to watch him. The room seemed to be moving around her. And the music kept getting louder and softer. Nevertheless, she poured more champagne into her flute.

By the time Charles returned to the table to find her, the champagne bottle was empty.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter 17_**

"Charlie, what on earth possessed you to drink so much?" Charles asked as he drove down a dark street.

"Nonsense, Uncle Charlie!" she slurred, resting her head on his shoulder. "I hardly had anything."

"The bottle was empty when I returned to the table and I only had one flute of champagne." She turned her eyes upward towards him, grinning playfully. Was it necessary for her to toy with him like this? He found himself twitching his shoulder agitatedly until she removed her head.

"Where are we?" she asked, for the first time noticing that they were moving.

"We're driving home. We have been for the past forty-five minutes," he said, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

She watched him with curiosity, still grinning. "Come on!" she prodded, pulling at his hand. "I certainly did not drink that…" Her voice trailed off and she became silent. After a moment, he looked at her to make sure she was well.

"Charlie?" he called.

"What?" she said, jerking her head up suddenly.

"Oh, nothing." He continued driving, attempting to stay as quiet as possible for the rest of the ride. He wished that he could simply ignore her for the next twenty minutes, but she simply would not hear of it. He was beginning to wish that she still hated him. If she did, his current predicament would be infinitely less difficult to handle.

"Uncle… Chaaaarlie…" she called, twirling a finger in his hair. He rapidly snatched her hand and thrust it towards her lap. She looked up at him, startled. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he said, his voice beginning to crack. Please, he thought to himself, just stop asking questions.

"Well something is _definitely_ the matter with you. One minute you're fine, taking me out to fine restaurants and buying me fancy gowns. And now what? All through dinner you wouldn't even look at me. What was the point of buying me the gown if you refuse to see me in it?"

"I'm entreating you to _please stop asking questions_," he said pointedly.

She sighed and turned to her window, humming softly to herself. This was starting to be too much for him. Eventually, he could no longer stop his eyes from glancing towards her as she slouched in her seat, twirling a curly lock of hair that had fallen in her eyes.

"If you want to go to sleep, go ahead," he said, forcing his eyes back towards the road.

"No," she moaned, forcing herself to sit up. "I can't do that. This is my last night with you."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, wiping his forehead.

"By tomorrow this all will be different. I won't be feeling as relaxed, you won't be treating me like _your pet_ and… I won't be able to tell you the truth."

"The truth?" he asked, turning his eyes to her briefly.

"You'll see," she whispered. "I'll tell you later… When we get home."

She did not insist on speaking another word the rest of the ride home, much to his relief. Less than a half hour later, he pulled into the driveway and looked into the windows of the house, hoping that no one would be awake. Unfortunately, several lights were on in the living room. He parked the car in the garage and sat in his seat for several minutes, unsure of what he should do. Finally, he turned to Charlie. At first he thought she might be asleep, but after a moment, she started to smile at him playfully again.

"I think we should go up the backstairs," he said. "I don't think your parents should see you like this."

"What are you hinting at, Uncle Charlie?" she asked, giggling softly. "I've already told you that I didn't drink that… much…"

"Still," he continued, exiting the car and opening her door for her. "I think it would be for the best. I doubt your mother would ever forgive me if she saw what I allowed."

"Oh please," she groaned, as he led her to the backstairs, holding her arm rigidly. "I'm fine! But…" She quickly stumbled onto the first step and began to laugh quietly. "I might need some assistance…"

He stared down at her, wishing desperately that she would stand and ascend the steps without his assistance. However, if it came down to being forced to carry her or allowing her to potentially fall and hurt herself, he would have to do what was right… for once.

Begrudgingly, he lifted her in his arms and effortlessly made his way to the balcony outside the backdoor leading to the upstairs hallway.

"Wasn't today just _wonderful_?" she asked cheerily, leaning her head back as he carried her up the steps.

"It was… different," he said quietly. "Please, hold your head up. I don't want to accidentally drop you."

"Oh fine, you big killjoy!" she whined, turning her head towards him, still smiling in that tormenting manner. As soon as he stepped up to the balcony, he helped her to her feet and opened the back door for her. "Wait…" she whispered. Reluctantly, he slowly turned back to her. "Well, close the door!" she demanded, holding onto the railing for support. After a moment of hesitation, he eventually complied.

"Well?" he asked, staring at the railing.

"Come here!" she coaxed. He started nervously fidgeting with his hair again.

"Charlie, why don't you come inside?"

"Come here!" she demanded, quite forcefully now. He slowly took several steps towards her, hoping that she would let him enter the house eventually. "Now…" she said, clasping her hands behind his neck, causing him to take a step back. "Stand still!" she ordered. "I said that I have a secret to tell you. Remember?"

He stood completely still, swallowing dryly. "Yes, I remember. Charlie, I'd like it if you wouldn't-" He attempted to pull her hands away, but she would not hear of it.

"Well, I'm going to tell you now," she whispered, pulling him in a step closer. "Do you remember… A few nights ago, when you first came here… You asked me something quite personal, didn't you?"

He was silent once more. "I don't really remember," he muttered.

"Sure you do! It was in my bedroom. I was standing near my door and you… You were standing in front of me, like this." At this, she took a step back and leaned against the column jutting out of the railing, pulling him with her.

"What's this all about?" he asked, his voice quaking with impatience.

"Fine. You're not going to remember? I'll just tell you. You asked me… if I had ever let Jack kiss me before. And I didn't answer." She waited for him to respond, but he was more than happy to remain quiet. "And the truth is…" she elaborated, leaning her head against the column as she quietly chuckled. "You were right. I never once let him do it! And if you want to know the entire truth-"

"I assure you I don't!" he whispered forcefully, pointlessly attempting to pull away once more. She had an impressive amount of strength for such a small woman.

"I never let anyone kiss me before!" she exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. "Isn't that amazing, Uncle Charlie? You knew me so well…" Eventually, she stopped laughing and actually bothered to examine his facial expression. "You're trembling!" she said, placing her hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I've told you many times, Charlie, I'm _not sick_! Maybe I am, but… It's not a physical ailment." He turned his head away. Slowly her hand fell from his forehead and she gently caressed his cheek.

"Look at me…" she whispered gently, pulling his face towards her. She stared deeply into his wide eyes, trying to make out what could possibly be causing him to act so bizarrely.

"Charlie," he moaned pitifully, softly rubbing his face against her palm. "I think there is something _dreadfully_ wrong with me. There has been… ever since I first saw you in the restaurant. Who am I fooling? Ever since I… left the train station two years ago. I can't tell you what it is. It's all too frightening."

"There, there," she said, attempting to comfort him, despite the fact that she was having difficulty seeing straight. "I know all of your secrets. You can tell me anything. We're like twins, aren't we?"

He stared up at her, taken aback by her words. "You know… If I wasn't so… Well… If it were different now, I would be overjoyed to hear you say that."

"Why's it different?" she asked, patting his head softly.

"I can't say. You'd never want to be near me again if I told you the… somewhat disconcerting truth."

"Just tell me," she entreated. "I promise I won't hate you for it. If I can't hate you now after what you did the last time you visited, how could I ever hate you?"

He stared at her for a moment, torn. Finally, after making one last attempt to swallow, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth. "Charlie…"

"Yes?" she asked expectantly.

"Have you… Ever wondered what it might be like… if you weren't my… sister's daughter?"

"You mean, your niece?" she asked. He closed his eyes, grimacing at the word.

"Yes, that's what I mean."

She stared at him confused. However, despite the fact that her current level of intoxication had hindered her thought process, she eventually stared up at him, at last beginning to understand what he meant.

"I think that… Perhaps I might have come here to stop your wedding… because…"

"What?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Because…" For some reason, he simply could not form the words. They seemed far too disturbing to him. However, he soon found it unnecessary for either one of them to speak at all.

He had been fighting to control his actions ever since she first entered the waiting area of the restaurant in that cursed lavender gown. With every brush of her hand, he felt himself jolt backwards, as though her mere touch would mean the death of him. Had he fought his inner conflict all of this time simply to be defeated? Apparently this would be so.

But as he stood in front of her, gently pushing her against the column, this sudden sense of defeat did not seem quite so devastating to him. And fortunately, she did not seem to be entirely distraught by it either. He stood there on the back porch of his sister's house with his dearest confidante, pressing his lips against her own, unable to maintain self-control and for once feeling a sense of exhilaration captivating him. He was not simply kissing her as he would any romantic interest. He was at last becoming entirely honest with her, revealing his inner self and all that he desired through this one passionate embrace that he wished could last forever. If it did last that long, he would never have to deal with its consequences.

He could hardly believe the fact that she was returning his affections. She pulled away only briefly to look at him and he was absolutely shocked to see that she was smiling. He had expected her to be afraid or disgusted by him. He wondered if she would run inside to tell her family all about what a sick, horrible person he was. But after staring at him for several seconds, she placed her gloveless hands about his face and kissed it all over fiercely, as though she had thought he would disappear and never return to her.

Pulling his head onto her shoulder, she slowly began to groan lightly. "What do we do?" she asked desperately.

"I've been wondering that for the past two years," he replied, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "I can't stay… But I already know that if I don't remain with you I'll go absolutely out of my mind."

"This is terrible, isn't it?" she asked squeezing him tightly.

"That's what I told you before."

"What can we do about this?"

"I don't know," he replied, lifting her chin and staring down at her. "Nothing can be done. But… Perhaps this was… a horrible mistake."

"Of course it was!" she exclaimed. "It's a crime against nature. We should be put away for feeling this way. What could possibly be wrong with us?" Charles now felt overcome with a sense of pity for her. It seemed as though frustration (as well as a good deal of champagne) had her on the edge of tears.

"Come inside now," he whispered, pulling her towards the door. "Perhaps you should just go to bed."

At last she did as he told her to do and allowed him to lead her to Ann's room. He opened the door for her and was surprised to see Ann sitting in her bed with a book. Ann was just as surprised to see them.

"Oh, Ann," he murmured, leading Charlie to a nearby bed. "Your… sister isn't feeling well."

"Oh?" Ann asked, raising an eyebrow as she glanced from her sister to Charles. "Perhaps I should get Mother."

"No," he ordered. "I mean… She just needs rest. I think perhaps she became overheated."

"Either that or she drank too much," Ann corrected. He turned to her, startled. "What? Did you think I wouldn't be able to detect it?" she asked. "I'm not a silly child, Uncle Charlie."

"Right," he said attempting to grin at her. "Well… I'm sure you'll be compassionate enough to both Charlie and me by not mentioning this to your mother."

"I'm not a tattle-tale," she stated, turning her attention to Charlie, who was lying across the bed silently.

"Fine," Charles replied, still unable to look away from Charlie. "Make sure that she… gets to bed properly. All right?"

"I'll take care of it," Ann replied, grinning darkly. "Oh, and Uncle Charlie…"

He turned to her, startled. "What is it, Ann?"

"Oh, nothing important…" she began. "It's just that… I think you might have hurt your lip or something. It's bright red…"

He placed a finger against his lips and wiped them intensely, finding it to be more and more difficult to remain cool with her. "Thank you for telling me, Ann."

Her expression made Charles feel slightly uncomfortable and soon he crossed to the door reluctantly leaving Charlie to her sleep. Ann watched him as he left, only placing her book to the side once she was sure he had gone. "I wonder what the consequences will be in the morning…" she thought to herself with a devious grin.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18_**

"Charlie," Emma called, knocking on Ann's bedroom door. After a few moments of silence, Emma quietly opened the door and stepped in, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Her eyes widened when she saw her eldest daughter sprawled out on a bed clad in an expensive evening gown. She was lying unusually still, causing Emma to feel slightly concerned. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook her daughter's arm. "Charlie… Wake up, dear."

Slowly, Charlie strained to open her eyes. She stared up at her mother, confused. "Mother…" she whispered meekly. "What time is it?"

"It's one in the afternoon. I was worried about you. Are you well?"

Charlie struggled to sit up in bed. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, rubbing her throbbing skull. "Just a head ache." Emma watched her curiously for a moment. "Mother… I had… the most disconcerting dream last night… I can't even describe it to you. It's… all too shocking." Suddenly, Charlie's mouth dropped open and she nearly exclaimed as she stared down at her gown. "Well then- It wasn't a dream! Oh my…"

"Charlie, what is it?" Emma asked, checking her temperature with the back of her hand. "What did the two of you do yesterday? And what time did you end up coming home? I stayed up till past midnight waiting for you. And Jack tried calling here at least half a dozen times. What happened, dear?"

"Oh Mother…" Charlie began, trying desperately to constrain her shameful tears. "I can't say… That is, it's not all that interesting."

Emma continued to stare at her, expecting an elaboration. "Charlie, did your uncle buy you that dress?"

"Yes, he did," Charlie admitted, feeling embarrassed to be seen in it.

"It must have cost him quite a bit of money," Emma gasped. "Charlie! I can't believe you would allow your uncle to spend so much on a present."

"I didn't want him to!" Charlie whined defensively. "And I definitely regret it now."

Before Emma could interrogate her further, Ann slowly strolled into the room, watching Charlie with her familiar grin. "Good afternoon, Charlotte. Did you sleep well?"

"I slept fine, Ann. And yourself?" she asked irritably.

"Oh don't worry about me. I'm asking about you. Did you have nice dreams?"

For a moment, a horrific sensation filled Charlie. She wondered if it were possible that Ann had witnessed something. But she couldn't imagine that her sister would be cruel enough to see her ghastly actions and torment her afterwards.

"What time did you come home last night?" Emma repeated.

"I… Um… I-" Charlie thought deeply, unable to recollect the time of her arrival.

"It wasn't too late, Mother," Ann said, sitting next to Charlie on the bed. "Probably between ten and eleven. But it's no wonder Charlie wouldn't remember. At the time, she was…" Before continuing, Ann glanced up in order to see her sister squirm to her satisfaction. "She was feeling quite ill. Actually, when Uncle Charlie brought her in here, she had fainted. Perhaps it was due to exhaustion. But I wouldn't know. If you want to know more about it, Mother, you _really_ should ask Uncle Charlie."

The way she said those last two words compelled Charlie to slap her across the face. However, she maintained control, at least long enough for her mother to leave the room.

"It's strange," Emma mumbled. "Your Uncle Charlie hasn't come down from his room either. I can't imagine what the two of you did that proved to be so exhausting."

"Nothing, really," Charlie replied, rubbing her face with her hands. "We… went out dancing. That's it. And… I suppose that would prove to be exhausting. And it explains the gown as well."

"Oh, I see," Emma replied, standing from the bed. "Well, I'm making lunch. As soon as you want, come downstairs and eat something. You'll need your energy."

"Of course, Mother," Charlie replied, smiling sweetly until Emma shut the door behind her. As soon as she could hear Emma descending the stairs, Charlie grabbed a pillow and soundly beat her sister across the head. Ann did not squeal or fight back, as she had expected. Rather, the abuse she was receiving seemed to be causing her to smile even wider. "What is wrong with you, you little demon? Why are you smiling like that? I know you think you've figured something out. Maybe you have. Maybe you figured it out long before I did. I don't know anything anymore. But what did I ever do to you to make you torment me like this? Why are you constantly staring at me and grinning and dropping subtle hints that you know no one will catch but I? Do you _want_ to ruin my wedding? Is that it?"

"Well…" Ann began quietly, thinking about how she should answer this.

"What is it?" Charlie demanded furiously. "Do you hate Jack? Is that it?"

"No," Ann said, staring at Charlie. "No, I don't hate Jack."

"Fine. You like him. Is it me then? Do you hate me?" Charlie stared at her for a moment before an idea suddenly formed in her mind. "Ah… I think I understand you perfectly, you miserable little creature! You _do _like Jack, don't you? Perhaps a little more than you should."

"Nonsense," Ann said with a scoff. "But I suppose that if anyone would understand 'liking' someone 'a little more than they should', I would think it might be you." It took all of the self-control Charlie possessed to refrain from striking her for saying this. However, for fear of her terrible secret being released, Charlie remained still, her fist clenched tightly.

"Don't toy with me," Charlie warned. "Tell me what you know. Explain why you're doing this to me. Why are you making me miserable?"

Ann leaped from the bed and crossed to the door, not the least bit concerned over Charlie's unhappy state. "If you think about it, you'll realize that I'm not making you miserable at all… If you're unhappy about something, I think it would be due to your unfortunate relationship with Jack… or more importantly, Uncle Charlie." Ann closed the door behind her before Charlie could respond.

Charlie quickly stood from the bed and changed into one of her simple day dresses. She combed her hair violently before leaving the bedroom. She moved towards the stairs, too caught up in her own fury to even notice the fact that she was about to collide with another who was exiting his room.

"Oh!" he nearly exclaimed, taking a step back before she ran directly into him. "Charlie…" Charlie stared at her feet, refusing to look up at him. "How… How are you feeling today?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, trying to step towards the stairs.

"Wait a minute," he ordered, gently grabbing her arm. She pulled away furiously.

"Don't touch me," she ordered, finally staring up at him. "I don't know why you're here and I don't understand what your intentions were in coming here. I just don't want to think about it anymore. I'm getting married and… And you're all _ruining_ it!" Charlie could no longer constrain herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks and as much as she wanted to stifle them, this soon proved to be impossible. And as much as she wanted to hate him and isolate herself from him, she soon found herself in his comforting embrace once more, her face buried against his shoulder as he softly stroked her head.

He quietly shushed her, hoping that she would be able to regain control before anyone became suspicious. "Charlie," he whispered, lifting her chin up. "I didn't want anything to happen. I assure you of that. I… really can't tell you why I came because I honestly don't understand it myself. But I assure you that never once did I expect anything like this to happen. And I promise that nothing else _will_ happen. Look… Can't we just say that… Last night, I was exhausted and you had drank far too much and… with closeness like ours, something strange is bound to happen."

"Strange?" she asked, looking up at him. "'Strange' would be if we went out all night dancing or playing cards… What happened last night was far beyond 'strange'. It was absurd and horrible! If anyone else found out…" Her eyes twitched with panic as she thought about it. He continued to shush her and gently sway her in his arms. But after a minute, she suddenly realized what was happening and pulled away rigidly. "And you said that it would never happen again! Look at this. Here I am, going on about how terrible it was. And yet… seconds later, I let you hold me like that. I'm as much to blame over this as you are. I'm allowing it all to happen. I'm not doing a thing to stop it, am I?"

"Calm down," he ordered quietly, lifting a handkerchief out of his pocket. "I wasn't doing anything to you. Not right then, anyway. I was simply holding you the way an uncle would hold a niece while comforting her. And wipe your eyes."

She took the handkerchief and gently wiped her face. "Call it what you'd like. I think I finally understand what's been happening between us and honestly, it frightens me. I never thought something so terribly disgusting could be a part of our family… a part of me! It makes me feel sick."

"Don't you think you're over reacting a bit?" he asked. "Like I said… Neither one of us were in our right minds last night. Why can't we leave it at that and just pretend that nothing ever happened? I mean, I adore you. I always have and always will. I'd never want you to think that I'd purposefully do something that would ruin our relationship."

"Are you sure you want to say that?" Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. "Especially after what happened the last time you were here?"

"You're right. What was I thinking?" he mumbled, turning towards the staircase. "I'll understand if you don't want to associate with me for the rest of my trip."

"Oh. Does this mean…" Charlie turned to him curiously. "Does this mean that you won't try to ruin my wedding?"

He glanced up, surprised. "I don't think I can answer you, Charlie. After all, I absolutely _hate _the idea of you marrying that man and I think I would do practically anything to prevent you from doing so… But now I wonder… If I do try to stop you, it might seem like proof that… maybe what happened last night wasn't just a spontaneous happening. You see?"

She gazed at him, dumbfounded. "Not that it matters," she said at last. "Despite what happened you are _still_ my uncle. And unless the law suddenly condones… you know… I don't think it really matters if what happened was spontaneous or not. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose you're right," he whispered, unable to look at her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, suddenly concerned by the tone in his voice.

"Of course I'm fine," he replied, straightening himself. "Look, Charlie, I don't… I don't approve of this wedding in any way. However if it will prove to you that what happened was completely absurd and could never happen again, I won't stand in your way."

"Well," she turned her eyes to the floor. "Thank you, I suppose."

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Aren't you happy?"

She glanced up, trying to force herself to smile. "Yes, of course I am. I mean, I love Jack. And I… could never be _your_ wife, no matter what happened between Jack and I, so… Thank you."

She quickly skipped down the stairs, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, hoping that he wouldn't follow her for a while.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter 19_**

As Charlie skipped down the stairs, she heard her mother's voice calling her. "Charlie! Oh, there you are, dear. Jack's on the phone."

"Oh, Mother, can't you tell him I'm having breakfast or something?" Charlie said wearily, rubbing her head.

"I think you'd better take his call. He sounds upset about something." Charlie glanced up suspiciously. She supposed it was just her own paranoia causing her to worry. After all, Jack would have no way of knowing what had happened, being that he wasn't even in Santa Rosa. Still, she felt compelled to speak with him, just to be sure.

"Hello?" she said quietly, lifting the receiver to her ear.

"Charlie!" Jack exclaimed, annoyed. "Where were you yesterday? I tried calling you at least half a dozen times."

"Really, Jack, you act as though I should be desperately waiting by the phone the entire time you're gone. What's wrong?"

"Where were you?" he asked again, this time slightly more interested.

She briefly paused. "Nowhere important. I… went out shopping during the day and… last night I went to the movies with Catherine. There. Are you satisfied?"

"No I'm not, actually," he replied. "Because yesterday when I called, your mother told me that you were out the entire day with your _dearest_ uncle. Now want to explain why you're lying to me?"

"Look, detective, if you already knew where I was, I don't know why you asked. Yes, I spent the day with him. I only lied about it because I wanted to avoid _this_ quarrel! But apparently we're going to argue about it anyway, so there was no point in my lying!" Charlie hadn't realized it, but her tone had risen considerably and now Emma was staring at her from the kitchen, concerned.

"Fine. I won't interrogate you any further… for now," he said, attempting to calm her. "It's only that something very important has been brought to my attention and I have to tell you now… before anything happens."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, holding her mouth closer to the telephone. "What's wrong?"

"You know how I've been called away here because of a certain case that's been reopened?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"The case… It's the one I was working on two years ago… about your uncle."

Charlie felt the blood chill in her veins and she nearly dropped the receiver.

"Charlie? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," she whispered, clearing her throat. "Jack, what happened? Why are you reopening his case?"

"Look, you remember how, two years ago, the suspect that we thought was the culprit ran into an airplane propeller and died, thereby making it impossible for his identity to actually be verified by eye witnesses?"

"Yes, I remember," she said anxiously, clenching the receiver tightly.

"Well, technically he might have been the culprit," he said hesitantly. "But… Recently, it's been brought to our attention that the said suspect had been on a train on January 12th at approximately ten o'clock that evening."

"So?" she asked, her voice beginning to crack.

"That was the day that the Merry Widow Murderer killed his third victim, Charlie…. Hello?"

"Yes," she replied weakly. "But… But how could they know for certain that it was that man on the train? After all, you said yourself that you had no way to identify him."

"Up till now we hadn't. But recently we had published our findings about the case in a small, insignificant article for a mystery magazine. The suspect's name was released for the first time as William Burton from Quincy, Massachusetts. Just by sheer coincidence, we had a caller who said that on January 12th, he specifically remembered speaking with a William Burton from Quincy while riding a train to Gloucester. Upon hearing this, we reexamined the articles that had been found on the suspect after his accident and, as luck would have it, were able to locate a train ticket purchased for that evening from Portland, Maine to Gloucester, Massachusetts. It all checked out, you see."

"Gloucester…" Charlie whispered to herself. "Gloucester. Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Gloucester was the place where Mrs. Bruce Matthewson was murdered that night."

"And what time was she murdered?"

"We have no way of knowing for certain. But it's suspected that the murder took place between ten and eleven o'clock."

"And the suspect had been on a train at ten. What time did the train enter Gloucester?"

"The train was scheduled to arrive at ten thirty."

"Well there! You see?" she said excitedly. "Ten thirty. That's the perfect time! He was there in Gloucester at ten thirty! He might have easily killed her!"

"Don't sound so happy about it, Charlie. Anyway, though I'll admit it is possible that Mr. Burton might have been able to travel from the train station to Mrs. Matthewson's house within the time frame of the murder, you must agree that it's highly improbable. After all, there might have been traffic or some kind of detainment at the train station."

"Improbable, yes. However, I won't stand to see you put my uncle away because something's _improbable_!" Charlie glanced over her shoulder, assuring that Emma was not eavesdropping. Fortunately, Emma had gone out to see Joe and Herb on the back porch. "It's possible, isn't it? And as it is, you have no way to know for certain! You can't exactly interrogate Mr. Burton."

"No, we can't. However, we can delve deeper into the case from your uncle's standpoint. We know for certain that one of the two is the culprit. If it's not your uncle, it must be Mr. Burton. That's how we'll know for certain."

Charlie didn't know how she could respond to him. It was all too overwhelming to her.

"I suppose this might put a damper on our wedding," he said unenthusiastically. "You see? I knew something would happen if he came."

"Is there a reason you're telling me all of this?" she asked pointedly.

"Yes, there is. I just… want you to be careful. This perfect uncle of yours might not be as wonderful as you think."

"That's what you told me the last time this was a problem."

"I remember. And if only for a brief while, the problem resolved itself then. I hope for your sake that it will this time as well."

"Do you?" she asked cautiously. "Sometimes I think you…" Her words trailed off suddenly as she heard a muffled click. "Jack? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," he said quickly. "I thought you had hung up for a second."

"You mean you heard that click as well?" she asked worriedly, glancing around the room.

"I did. But it's probably nothing. Probably just a bad connection or something. Look, I have to get back to work. I just had to let you know what's happening. You'll be careful, won't you?"

Charlie was only partially listening. She continued to look around nervously. "What? Oh, yes. I'll be careful. I think I should go now, Jack. I'll talk to you when you come back to Santa Rosa. All right?"

"That's fine. Good bye for now, Charlie."

Without responding, she hung up the receiver and slowly turned the corner into the kitchen, where she found Herb standing awkwardly next to a telephone.

"Good afternoon, Charlie," he said, agitated. "I- I was just going-" His nervous stuttering caused her to tremble. "I wanted to use the phone. Are you finished speaking to your fiancé?"

She stared at him surprised. Suddenly, he realized that he had said too much. "That is… I assume that's whom you were speaking with. I don't know. I… didn't hear anything." Unfortunately, even Herb could see that he made a terrible liar. He crossed to the back door anxiously. "On second thought, that call's not really all that important anyway." He closed the door behind him, leaving Charlie alone to reluctantly absorb all that she had done and heard within the past twenty-four hours.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20_**

Within several days, Jack Graham returned to Santa Rosa and continued having dinner with the Newtons almost every evening, despite the fact that certain members of the family secretly resented his presence. Though the tension between Jack and Charles never had actually escalated into a confrontation, Charlie couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for this to occur. Finally, one evening as the entire group relaxed in the living room, Charlie's suspicions were fulfilled.

Charles sat in his chair, smoking his cigar as usual, a newspaper in hand. Charlie slowly entered the room and eventually seated herself next to Jack on the sofa, Emma, Joe and Ann lounging on the other side of the room. It had been nearly two weeks since Jack had given her the horrifying news about her uncle's case and every moment since then she had been overwhelmed thinking about it. Every day she desperately tried to avoid Charles, well aware that he would detect something peculiar in her countenance if she allowed him to do so. But avoiding him was becoming more and more difficult for her, not because he was constantly following her, but because she felt herself becoming more drawn to him than ever before. If Jack and the other detectives were able to prove him guilty, she might never see him again after this visit. He might be executed for his crimes. In her mind she realized that he would only be receiving what he deserved. But nevertheless, she understood that he genuinely was sick and she couldn't bear to see him punished for something that perhaps he would not have done had he been mentally stable at the time of his crimes. For some reason, she felt so differently now than she had two years earlier. For the first time, she felt a small measure of compassion for him, despite the fact that his crimes had been inexcusable. For purely selfish reasons, she could not help but hope that the other suspect would continue taking the blame for a crime he had not committed. It was not as though he could be hurt by the crimes anymore…

Charlie jerked her head up, realizing at once that she had been staring at Charles as she daydreamed.

"Charlie," Jack called, becoming annoyed. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, what's wrong?" she asked nervously.

"Oh, nothing," he mumbled, turning his eyes to the floor. "I've only been talking to you for the past five minutes."

"I'm sorry," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I guess I'm just tired. What were you asking me?" she whispered, forcing her eyes up to Jack.

"Nothing all that interesting, I'm sure. I just wanted to know what you think we should do for our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? Why would we need a honeymoon? You have important work to do, after all. I couldn't interfere with _that_." Jack could tell what she was referring to as she said this and quietly sighed.

"Fine. You don't want a honeymoon. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything."

"Really?" he asked, unconvinced. He glanced at Charles coolly. "I don't know if I believe that."

Charlie turned her attention to her younger sister, who was sprawled out on the floor. She was surprised (yet relieved) that Ann had nothing to say on the matter. Ever since Charlie had finally questioned her, Ann hadn't been making her usual comments or grinning deviously as she had before.

"What are you reading, Ann?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Twelfth Night… by William Shakespeare. I'm at the end," she mumbled, trying to hint that she did not wish to be interrupted. Charlie did not acknowledge this.

"What's it about? I don't think I had to read that one in school."

"It's about a girl… who's shipwrecked and ends up in a foreign land where she dresses as a boy and works for a rich duke. Of course she ends up falling in love with the duke. What's strange is that the duke immediately falls in love with her as soon as she reveals herself to be a woman. Isn't that odd?"

"Yes, I suppose," Charlie said, uninterested.

Ann lifted her eyes to her sister, suddenly struck with an idea. "Think about it… If you were to realize that someone you deeply cared for was… not what they seemed to be… and therefore you were able to freely fall in love with them… could you do so? Or would it require a bit of a transition before you could view that person in a different light?"

"I think it would require a transition," Emma stated, smiling pleasantly. "After all, even if you cared for someone, you couldn't just immediately fall in love with them once you realize that it was a possibility."

"Unless you already loved them from the beginning…" Charlie interjected. "And all you needed was… a little encouragement. We can't help whom we love, can we? Only sometimes we're never able to freely admit it when we realize that we care for someone. It's like your book… The Duke must have cared deeply for the female character, even before he discovered that she was a woman."

"But imagine if he never found out," Ann said, watching Charlie closely.

"I guess he would have had to live his life, unaware of what could have been…" Charlie said, her eyes turning to Charles once more. "It would be rather tragic, wouldn't it?"

"It's a good thing Twelfth Night is a Shakespearean comedy then, I suppose," Ann said, flipping a page.

"I don't have a clue what you're all talking about," Jack said at last.

"We're talking about love," Emma explained. "And how, as Charlie said, no one can really choose whom they love."

"I suppose it's all a little too sentimental for me," Jack stated, only now noticing that his fiancé was still gazing at Charles. "Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"No, Jack. I'm beginning to like sentimentality." She felt herself becoming more and more irritated. She couldn't understand how he could just sit there, reading his paper and smoking his pipe, without giving her one sign of acknowledgement. Perhaps he had been right. What had happened must have been nothing more to him than a spontaneous event caused by her overdrinking and his exhaustion. Somehow, she thought that perhaps he would see it as being more than this. Though it was not as if she wanted him to feel this way. But still, how was he able to sit there so confidently as she spouted about true love like a blathering idiot? Suddenly, she realized how disturbing her thought process was and quickly tried to focus on something else. But the harder she tried to think of a more pleasant topic, the more her mind raced over what was happening. And more importantly, she wondered if he would ever glance up from his paper. She felt herself rise from the sofa, uncertain of what she meant to do. Everyone stared up at her except for him. At last, with her staring down at him, he folded his paper and turned his eyes towards hers.

He smiled awkwardly. "Charlie… Are you well?" She couldn't answer him, but continued to stare. "What's wrong? Do you need something?" He quickly stood from his chair and approached her. Seeing this, Jack immediately rose and acted in the same way.

"Charlie, are you sick?" Jack asked, trying to turn her face towards him.

Her eyes suddenly widened in recognition. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. "I… don't know what came over me. I just suddenly felt… I don't know. I can't explain it."

"Perhaps you need some fresh air," Charles suggested, taking her arm and leading her towards the door. Jack quickly followed.

"I'll take you out," he said forcefully, taking her other arm. "I'm leaving anyway."

"How about you both go out?" Ann suggested, staring at her book as though she weren't the least bit interested.

Both men stared at each other unyieldingly. Finally, the three of them left the house and strolled onto the front lawn.

Charlie held her face in her hands, hoping that whatever was wrong with her would pass quickly.

"Charlie!" Jack exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. Charles peeled her hands from her face and lifted her chin towards him. As he did so, Charlie felt her heartbeat increase much as it had that night several weeks earlier.

"How's my girl?" he asked sweetly, staring closely at her face.

"Don't you mean _my _girl?" Jack corrected, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, perhaps that's exactly what I would mean," Charles began, at last beginning to feel a lack of patience. "If I felt that…"

"What?" Jack asked aggressively. "If you thought I deserved her? Is that it? Am I not good enough for your _precious_ little Charlie?"

Though Charles was generally able to maintain his self-control, this boy was wearing on his final nerve. "Yes, that too. However, what I was about to say was that perhaps she would be your girl if her heart actually belonged to you."

Jack felt his jaw drop open and before he was able to reply, he pushed Charlie to the side. "Oh, is that it, Mr. Oakley? And just what do you know about her heart? If she doesn't care for me, it's because you came here and poisoned her against me."

"Really? I might believe that, but I'll have you know that from the day I arrived here, that girl wasn't any more excited about this wedding than she is now. So how might you explain that?"

"Maybe she'd care more about _me_ if she weren't constantly thinking about _you_!" Jack exclaimed. Charles glanced nervously to Charlie, who was far too mortified to defend herself. Even Jack could see that he had gone too far by saying this. "I mean… That wasn't exactly what I meant. But… Perhaps it is what I meant! I haven't an idea what I know anymore! But I think it's time for me to straighten this all out." At this, he turned to Charlie. "Tell me once and for all… Are you in love with me?"

She stared up at him, shocked. She wished desperately that she could say that she was, but as soon as she stared past Jack towards Charles, she knew that she must tell him the truth. "No, Jack. I can't lie about this anymore. It's unfair to you and, honestly, it's killing me."

Jack stared down pensively, shifting from side to side. "All right. Now that that's established… Is it because of him?" Charlie thought for a moment, hesitant to answer.

"What… What exactly do you mean by that, Jack?"

"Isn't it clear? I want to know if he's responsible for you no longer having any use for me. Did he come here and tell you that you could do better? Is that it?" He stared at her expectantly. All of a sudden, as he watched her gaze towards Charles helplessly, the awful truth began to form in his mind. "Ah…" he whispered, turning from her to Charles. "I see. I suppose he did tell you that you could do better. And by 'better'… he was referring to himself."

"Jack how could you-"

"No, no, Charlie. Don't interrupt me. I think I'm finally beginning to understand what's been happening here. I always thought that I wouldn't know what to do if he weren't your uncle. Apparently even _that_ wasn't enough to stop you from acting on your infatuation." He crossed towards his car, her following behind anxiously. Suddenly, as he sat in the driver's seat, he began to laugh bitterly.

"This isn't funny, Jack. I don't know what you could possibly find to be amusing about any of this. What you said was terrible and-"

"Oh, stop, Charlie. There's no reason for you to continue this charade. Clearly the wedding's off. I was laughing because I just thought of something… The first time I met you, I was pretending to survey your house. I said that I was looking for the 'typical American family'. Well, Charlie, heaven help America if what's happening here becomes known as _typical_!" Without giving her a chance to defend herself, he drove away.

"Oh…" she groaned, slowly turning back to the house. She looked to Charles, who was leaned up against the porch's railing, as though nothing had happened. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"He wouldn't have believed me," Charles replied. "If he didn't want to hear it from you, what makes you think he'd want to hear it from an enemy?"

"Now I have to go inside and face them," she grumbled miserably. He stepped down towards her and gently led her towards the backstairs.

"Go to bed, Charlie. I'll tell them what happened. Clearly I'll have to make something up regarding his reason for ending the engagement."

"It's not as though anything Jack said were true…" Charlie said, glancing up expectantly.

"No, of course not," Charles replied, wishing he had the will to look away from her. "Go to bed, Charlie. We'll discuss this in the morning."

"All right," she whispered. She knew that it wasn't a good idea, but she soon found herself wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder once more. He tried to step back, but felt that it might be cruel to do so.

"Charlie," he whispered softly. "It will all turn out well. You never really wanted to marry him, did you?"

"No, I never did. I just wanted you here," she admitted, staring up at him. "I don't mean it in the way that Jack suggested. I just… I miss you so much. You were my favorite person. And then suddenly you disappeared and I was left with absolutely no one. At least no one that I connected with. I love my parents and siblings and… even Jack, in a friendly sort of way."

"You don't need to explain this to me, Charlie. I understand better than anyone," he said, gently pulling her arms down. "I'll speak with you in the morning, all right?"

She nodded her head gently and slowly made her way up the backstairs. He watched her until he heard the back door shut. Then, it was time for him to return to the house, where he could finally give the rest of them his joyous news using the most somber appearance he could muster.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 21_**

"I don't understand it," Emma mumbled, staring at Charles, dumbfounded. "They seemed so happy together. What on earth could have happened? Did they have an argument when the three of you were outside? Is that it?"

"Well…" Charles glanced down at the floor, then back up to Emma. "Come now, Emmy… You don't really think it would be my place to discuss all the details."

"Perhaps I should go talk to Charlie," Emma said, rising.

"No, Emmy," Charles said, suddenly crossing to her and placing his hand on her arm. He glanced down and happened to notice Ann staring up, her eyes widened. "That is, I sent Charlie to bed. She was quite upset about the whole thing. I thought it would be best for her to have some time by herself before discussing the whole affair with anyone. You understand, of course."

"Oh, yes," Emma slowly returned to her seat, still staring up towards the stairs.

"Well," Charles began brightly, taking a step towards the stairs. "I think I might retire for the evening. I have the feeling I'll be sleeping quite well tonight."

"Good night, Charles," Emma said only briefly grinning at him.

Charles couldn't help but notice that Ann stared at him with an accusing expression on her face as he ascended the stairs. Something about that expression rattled him, but he tried to ignore this. He entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

************************************************************************

Charles shifted in his bed, a pleasurable sensation of total relaxation captivating him. For the first time in many months, he had slept for several consecutive hours, too far deep into his slumber to even recall any particular dream. He would have continued sleeping in this relieving way if it weren't for the fact that he felt a rather heavy object seated on the edge of the bed next to him, pinning down the blankets with its weight. He shifted about uneasily and irritably lifted his hand to feel the object. He jerked his arm away, startled by what he felt. He quickly reached towards a lamp situated on the nightstand and flicked it on. He swallowed dryly and stared.

"Pardon me, Uncle Charlie," a small voice said with feigned sweetness. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Ann…" he muttered, struggling to sit up. "What are you-"

"Doing here? Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up." He stared at her silently, hoping that she might elaborate.

"Very well… I'm awake now…"

"Yes, I see that," she said pleasantly. She crossed her legs and rubbed her fingers gently along the small wooden box sitting in her lap.

"Ann, darling," he said, attempting to seem casual. "How long have you been sitting there… waiting for me to wake up?"

"Oh, not too long. Just a few minutes. I tried waking you, but you must have been in a very deep sleep. I didn't really want to shake you, so I figured I could wait."

Charles leaned forward and rubbed his face for a moment, attempting to collect his thoughts. He glanced towards her, still slightly shaken. "What exactly were you waiting for, Ann?" he asked at last. She grinned darkly at him, noticing his eyes constantly glancing down at the wooden box.

"You don't know, I take it," she said, slowly opening the box.

"I don't know what, Ann? Please, this is no time for games, dear. Is there something you need to say to me? Is there something in the box I need to see?"

Ann's eyes shot up, a triumphant smile forming within them. "The box? I'm glad you took notice. Yes, I'll say you should definitely see what's inside the box."

"Well, let me see it! Ann, it's…" he picked up his pocket watch from the night stand. "It's three in the morning! What could possibly be so important that-"

"Before I let you see the box," she said, closing the lid. "I'd like to hear the truth from you, for a change."

He stared at her for a moment in awe. "The truth? What makes you think I haven't been telling-"

"You mustn't defend yourself. I know the truth." An awkward silence followed, in which Charles felt his hands beginning to quiver.

"The truth? What could you possibly know?" he asked, aware that his tone was becoming more condescending as he became more intimidated.

"I know about you, _Uncle_ Charlie. Probably more than you know yourself. They've been lying to you this whole time, you see. Mother has, anyway. I doubt that Charlie knows the truth. Then again, perhaps she does. It certainly would explain the awkward little encounter the two of you had on the back porch a few weeks ago."

At this, Charles snatched the box from her hands and threw the lid open. He pulled out several papers and brushed through them quickly. "What's this? Why is this so very important?"

"Clearly you might need to read it in order to see the full significance of it," Ann said, rolling her eyes. He did as she advised and soon felt a cool sweat break out on the back of his neck.

"What- What is… this?" he stuttered, flipping through several pages weakly. "Is this some type of a joke?"

"Do I look like someone who tells many jokes?" Ann said dryly. "Here…" She lifted a paper he had cast to the side. "Read this…"

He held the paper between his fingers and slowly began to decipher the faded letters written upon it. Ann grinned slightly when she noticed the paper shaking like a leaf between his fingers.

"This… This can't be real… It's some type of joke, right?" he repeated, his voice beginning to quiver as much as his fingers.

She sighed impatiently. "I've already answered that…Mr. _Osborne_." He shot a fiery glance towards her and proceeded to rifle through the rest of the box's contents.

"How long have you known about this?" he asked at last, slamming the box shut.

"I found it a few weeks ago," she said calmly. "The same day that you and Charlie went on your…_outing_. I guess that's what you're calling it. My question to you is how is it possible that you never knew about this?"

"How could I have?" he asked defensively, leaping from the bed and crossing to his suitcase. "How could I possibly have known that I was…" His lips couldn't form the word.

"Say it," she demanded. "Say the word. You were… what?"

"Ann, please!" he snapped, lifting a small flask from the suitcase.

"Say it!" she ordered, snatching the flask away. He turned to her and violently lunged at her. However, she was too fast for him. She sat back on the edge of the bed, still smiling maliciously. "You'll get this when you say it!"

"Adopted! There, are you satisfied, you unfeeling little sadist? I was _adopted_. I am in no way related to you. That should please you greatly."

"Not necessarily. I bet it would please Charlie an awful lot though." She chuckled quietly at this.

He stared up at her, amazed by her cruelty. "I don't think I ever heard you laugh before, Ann. Now that I understand your sense of humor, I wish I never had."

"Don't pretend that any of this is my fault. After all, it was Mother who kept this from you. It's just by chance that I happened to come upon it. You know, when I invited you to come here, I never expected anything as utterly magnificent as this to present itself."

"You didn't invite me," he said forcefully. "Your mother-"

"My mother did _nothing_!" Ann said with a scoff. "Charlie told her not to even mention the wedding to you. Maybe Charlie knew that you'd be just strange enough to actually come here if she told you. Mother was writing a letter to you anyway. I decided to add in an invitation myself."

"Why? What do you care if I'm here for your sister's wedding?"

"Don't you understand anything?" she said, rising from the bed. "I asked you here because I knew you'd be willing to do _anything_ to stop this wedding. I couldn't do it alone, so I needed your assistance."

"Why would you want to ruin the wedding? You like Jack Graham, don't you?"

"Very much. I just don't like him with Charlie. That's all."

"What a strange little girl you are," he said, still staring at her in amazement. "You'd actually try to ruin your sister's wedding?"

"You'd actually try to ruin your fake-niece's wedding?" she replied. "Charlie doesn't want to stay in a small town. Any ignorant person could see that. Except Mother, apparently. She should be able to do whatever she wants. She shouldn't be tied down to Santa Rosa."

"What's all this have to do with me?" he asked, his fingers beginning to shake once more.

She chuckled again. "I think you are _well_ aware of that. Again, I know what happened out there on the back porch." He rose and crossed to her slowly. She moved slightly towards the door, unsure of what he intended to do.

"What did you see?" he asked stiffly.

"Enough. At least enough to know that all my suspicions had been correct."

"Suspicions?"

"I was eleven years old when you were here last. I wasn't stupid. I could see that something was strange about your relationship with Charlie. I'd think that anyone would have seen it. Again, except for Mother. The dear woman's hopelessly oblivious to practically everything that happens around here when you come."

"How did you know that I'd want to stop the wedding?"

"Well, honestly, I just thought that you'd come to tell her that she could do better and that Jack didn't deserve her. The fact that you'd go so far as to try to seduce her with outings and presents and… a midnight rendezvous on the back porch never even crossed my mind." He snatched the flask from her fingers and took a large gulp from it. One gulp led to another and within minutes the entire flask was empty. Ann sighed with satisfaction. "Well, I guess I've tormented you enough for one evening. I'll say good night for now, Uncle Charlie. Oh, I suppose I can't call you that anymore, can I? Very well. Good night… Mr. _Osborne_." She quickly abandoned the room before he could make a reply, leaving him to brood in his own traumatic misery.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter 22_**

Charles Oakley stepped quietly out of his bedroom, squinting, as he was unaccustomed to the bright sunlight pervading the hall.

"Good morning, Mr. Osborne," Ann said cheerily, passing him with her usual malicious grin.

"Listen, you," he whispered violently, taking hold of her arm. "You're not to speak a word of this to anyone, you hear? Not a word."

"Or what? What could you possibly do to me?" she asked, not the least bit phased. Charles could think of a few things he might do to her if she didn't stop taunting him with that grin, but he thought it best not to mention them.

"You never mind what I'll do. Just keep your little mouth shut. Understand?"

"Oh, that's fine. I wasn't planning on telling anyone besides you anyway. My question is… When are you going to tell Charlie the truth? I'm sure she'd be _quite_ delighted to hear. After all, she cancelled her wedding because of you. It might interest her to know that she might be able to marry you after all."

"_Quiet_!" he demanded, glancing towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. As he said this, the door opened and a very somber Charlie Newton crossed towards the staircase, hardly glancing up at them.

"Good morning, Charlie!" Ann called out, ignoring Charles' threatening glare. Charlie looked towards them, surprised.

"Oh, good morning. I didn't see you there." She glanced down, noticing Charles' tight grip on her sister's arm. "Is there something the matter?" she asked cautiously, crossing to them.

"Not at all," Charles mumbled, releasing Ann. "We were just having a little discussion, which I trust you won't forget, Ann."

"Oh, I never forget_ anything_. You can count on that," she said with a smirk. She skipped towards the staircase and descended the steps cheerfully.

Charlie stared up at Charles expectantly. "Well… How did they all take the news?" she asked, her expression growing more and more miserable.

"They took it well, my dear. I told them that it wasn't my place to discuss all the details, but you'd be willing to explain it after a good night's sleep."

"Yes, I suppose that was the right thing to say." She turned her eyes up to his, concerned. "You don't look as though you had a very good night's sleep yourself," she remarked, turning his face softly from side to side. "You look incredibly exhausted."

"I'm fine, dear," he said, pulling her hand down slowly, encompassing it with his fingers. "I never sleep well. Not for long, anyway."

"Is there something the matter with you?" she asked, alarmed.

"You mustn't worry so much, Charlie. I'm perfectly healthy. I just suffer from severe insomnia. It's not that unusual in adults."

She smiled warmly. "Well… How about we go downstairs and face my family together? I'm sure they'll have plenty of questions and I think it would be best for us to both agree to the same story, as to avoid discrepancies."

"That's fine," he whispered, leading her towards the staircase. As they moved towards the kitchen, Charles couldn't help but gaze at her, wondering just what could happen if she were to know the truth about him. He supposed it unlikely that she would be ecstatic over such mind-boggling news. But if there was even the slightest chance of her being ecstatic…

But he couldn't tell her. He mustn't. She wasn't marrying Jack Graham. Wasn't that enough to please him? He wouldn't want her to go away with him. What would the family think? Then again, he supposed that would be the least of his problems. The truth was that Charlie could do well in the world by herself. She didn't need him by her side every moment, did she? He would simply hold her back.

"Charlie!" Emma exclaimed as they entered the kitchen. "Charlie! What happened? I've been fretting about it all night! Was there a problem? Can it be fixed?"

"No, Mother. There's no way for this problem to be fixed, I'm sure." She briefly glanced up at Charles before continuing. "The truth is, I… I don't think that… That is…"

"It was my fault," Charles said suddenly. All eyes turned to him, startled. "I'm ashamed to admit that… the reason the wedding is off is due to me. I came here and took Charlie's attention away from her fiancé and, naturally, he felt neglected. I suppose it was natural for Charlie to bestow most of her attention upon a visiting relative. However, Mr. Graham seemed to be hurt by the negligence and for that reason, broke off the wedding. It's quite simple, really."

Charlie stared at him, wide-eyed and unable to speak. Emma turned from Charles to her eldest daughter, fidgeting with her apron. "Well… That's a strange reason to break off a wedding. Can't you speak with him, darling, and ask him to reconsider?"

"No, Mother. I'm afraid that's completely out of the question." Charlie fixed her attention on Charles, who was pouring out a cup of coffee, more calm at the moment than she would have liked.

"Oh, this is just terrible. It's our fault, I'm sure. We're always talking about how much you adore your uncle and how close the two of you are. And then we had to go and ask you at the dinner table, right in front of him, which man you loved more. How horrible of us!" Emma sat at the small kitchen table, fretting terribly. "But doesn't he understand? Charles is your dearest uncle! There's no reason for Jack to feel neglected or… jealous in any way. It's rather bizarre, I'd say."

"Yes, of course," Charlie mumbled, stepping slowly towards Charles. "It's very strange. However, I guess Jack just can't handle me adoring anyone besides him… even my family, apparently. But can't we just not talk about it anymore? I don't want to discuss it. It's all over and… now we know the truth about Jack. Honestly, I don't think I would want to be with someone who's that possessive anyway. Perhaps it's actually a good thing that Uncle Charlie came to visit when he did." Charles glanced towards her, grinning at this as he sipped his coffee.

"Oh no!" Emma exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Charlie questioned with alarm.

"Oh… It's just that the cake came today! Now we have that big beautiful cake and no wedding to match it."

"I warned you about choosing chocolate, Charlie," Charles said, still grinning. She gave him a sharp threatening glance, despite the fact that she couldn't help but smile at this.

"Roger and I will eat the cake, Mother," Ann suggested.

"They might as well," Charlie said. "I guarantee we won't be having any wedding for a while."

"A wedding might not be as far off as you think, Charlie," Ann said, turning to Charles in order to catch his reaction.

"Why? Are you planning on marrying anyone?" Charlie asked, trying not to think about what Ann's inner meaning could possibly have been.

"No, I'm not. Someone might be though," Ann replied, finishing her orange juice.

"Ann, dear, must you always be so vague when you speak?" Emma asked. "Half the time I haven't an idea what you're talking about. Oh well. I suppose I should start calling people, making sure to cancel all of the wedding orders and reservations. Oh dear! I just wish we hadn't sent out the invitations already!" Emma quickly moved out of the room. With both her sister and uncle staring down at her fiercely, Ann jumped from the table and followed after her mother.

"I can't imagine what she meant by that," Charlie said, her cheeks flushing.

"Don't bother pretending, Charlie. I know exactly what that little devil meant. She seems to know more about what's happening here than anyone else."

"But what did she mean exactly? Even if she has seen… more than she should have… the idea of a wedding is obviously absurd."

Charles glanced down at her nervously. "I… don't know," he said, rubbing his fingers through his hair nervously. "You know, I think I'll go outside for a while. I wouldn't mind smoking a cigar out in the sunlight."

"All right," she said, smiling softly. "May I get you something? Are you hungry?"

"No thanks, Charlie. I just want to go out for a little while."

Charles crossed to the front door and slowly strolled across the front lawn, lighting his cigar as he moved. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small form walking towards the house.

"Good morning, Herbie!" he called out good-naturedly. Herb immediately stopped mid-step and stared at Charles awkwardly.

"Oh… Good morning, Mr. Oakley. I'm just here to…" He pointed towards the house nervously.

"Yes, I know." Though Charles continued to move across the lawn, he could still feel Herb's frightened gaze fixed on him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh no!" Herb exclaimed, his voice beginning to crack. "I was just… thinking. About your last visit here, actually."

Charles turned towards him, intrigued. "My last visit? What about it?"

"Oh, nothing important. I was just remembering… You were here when that Merry Widow Murderer was on the loose, weren't you?" At this, Charles nearly charred himself with his own cigar.

"What was that?" he asked, his eyes blazing towards Herb.

"The Merry Widow Murderer," Herb mumbled, his voice quickly losing its air of confidence. "You might not remember that case, I take it." He crossed towards Charles awkwardly. "The one who was killing all those older ladies? Maybe you never read about it."

Charles held the cigar between his fingers, slowly exhaling a ring of smoke. "I'm not one for murder mysteries, Herb."

"I see. Well…" Herb scratched his forehead, agitated. "I only mentioned it because…" He took another step towards Charles. "They're reopening the case."

The cigar dropped from Charles' fingers, landing on Herb's foot. Herb jumped back quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Herb. I don't know what…" Charles thoughts trailed off slowly as Herb stomped on the cigar.

"As I was saying… The case is reopened. Don't tell anyone, mind you. It's top secret. I just _happened_ to hear about it… If the suspect were to hear about it, I'm _sure_ he'd take the opportunity to flee from the country… for his family's sake. That way they wouldn't have to know the awful truth. But I thought that if it would interest anyone, it would be… you, Mr. Oakley."

"Me, Herb?" Charles took an intimidating step towards him. "Why would it interest me?"

"There are reasons, I am led to believe," Herb said, trying to suppress his urge to cough nervously. "Apparently that original man they suspected might not be so guilty after all. With new evidence, it will only be a matter of time before…"

"Before… what?"

"Well…" Herb turned his head to his feet. "I just- I just thought you… might want to know that."

Herb crossed towards the house, Charles following anxiously. "Why, Herb? Why would I want to know all of this?" Herb made no reply, but quickly slipped into the house.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Chapter 23_**

"Mr. Hawkins," Jack began patiently, leading Herb towards his small desk, which was covered in scattered paperwork. "Thank you for coming. I'm very glad you called. It just so happens that you may be quite helpful to us in regards to this particular case."

"I'm no detective," Herb quietly mumbled with a slight blush. "I just want to do what's right. I didn't mean to overhear your conversation with Charlie. You see, I was just getting ready to make a phone call and-"

"No need to explain. I understand. You know…" Jack reclined in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "After Charlie and I called it quits, it suddenly occurred to me that I had lost my one way into the investigation. I was a little scared… until you called, that is."

"I just… felt it was my duty to society to be honest with the police," Herb muttered.

"I'm not the police, Herb. I'm a detective. More importantly, I'm your friend. I only want to help you and keep you, as well as every other civilian, safe from twisted individuals who want to do more harm than they're worth."

Herb looked up, slightly taken aback. "Are you referring to Mr. Oakley?"

"No, not necessarily," Jack replied with a chuckle. "I'm referring to the Merry Widow Murderer perhaps. And if that person turns out to be Mr. Oakley… perhaps I am referring to him."

"I like Mr. Oakley well enough," Herb said, suddenly concerned. "I just have always felt a little… intimidated by him. Something seems a little off about him. And in a murder mystery, that's the first clue that leads the reader to the culprit."

Jack felt the impulse to tell Herb that there were a great many people who seemed to intimidate him (including the little old woman who greeted him at the door no more than five minutes earlier), but decided to remain silent. After several pensive moments, Jack sat up straight in his chair and pulled himself closer to Herb. "Mr. Hawkins," he said in a quiet, official tone. "What is said here today will be kept completely confidential. So don't feel the need to hold back any information. Just tell me honestly… Do we have any valid reason to suspect that Charles Oakley is the Merry Widow Murderer?"

Herb thought for a moment. "No _valid_ reason… at the moment. But I could always try to find one."

Jack grinned, impressed by Herb's dedication. "I've got to ask you, Mr. Hawkins… If you have no reason to dislike Mr. Oakley… What exactly is motivating you to help us?"

Herb thought for a moment, his eyes shifted towards the floor. "To be honest, Mr. Graham… I've spent the greater portion of my life reading books and then seeing films all about crimes and mysteries that other great minds have created and solved for me. I've never made any contribution. I haven't solved any riddles or opened any cases. I've just been a _spectator_. I'm not a young man. So I just figure… This may be my only chance to do something that would mean a whole lot to society. And after all the reading I've done, I think I could do it."

"Real crimes aren't always as easy to solve as those found in books," Jack remarked.

"Oh, I know that! I meant no disrespect to your profession, Mr. Graham. In fact, I think what you do is just outstanding. Truth be told, I probably won't help you all that much. I don't know if I'm smart enough to unravel a _real_ murder mystery. But I sure would like to find out."

"And…" Jack hesitated trying to find a precise wording that wouldn't come across as tactless. "If you do end up finding any clue that would lead to us finally solving the case… Would you be able to reveal it?"

Herb's head shot up, offended. "Why wouldn't I, Mr. Graham?"

"Well, you're Mr. Newton's closest friend. You've always been close to the Newton family. Would you be able to live with the possible guilt of putting away Emma Newton's dear baby brother and Charlie's _sweetest_ uncle?"

The tone in Jack's voice when he said the word 'sweetest' caused Herb to gently raise an eyebrow. "This is a matter of justice, Mr. Graham. The right man should be convicted… even if it causes pain to those who shouldn't be forced to feel it. I don't know what Mr. Oakley's reasons were for committing those crimes, if he was even the one who committed them. For all I know he might be a crazed lunatic. Or maybe he just made a few mistakes. Maybe he's changed."

"Those would be some fairly serious mistakes, wouldn't they?" Jack questioned. "And why should this other suspect have his name defiled by crimes he never committed?"

"And I know what the Newtons would say to that," Herb replied, suddenly excited. "They'd say that the suspect's dead now and can't be hurt by this anymore. And since that man had no family to be tormented by these false charges, what would be the harm in letting Mr. Oakley go free? And… to some people, that might make sense. But I believe in justice above all other things."

"Will you be able to keep this to yourself?" Jack asked, shuffling through several papers. "You're with the Newtons all the time. You could always make a mistake and say too much. And with Mr. Oakley there, that could be catastrophic."

At this, Herb suddenly turned his head down, ashamed. "I have to make a confession, Mr. Graham…" he began. "About a week ago, I may have dropped a few subtle hints to Mr. Oakley."

"You _what_?" Jack gasped, leaping from his chair.

"Now… Now Mr. Graham-" Herb rose, suddenly shaken. "I didn't say too much. I just mentioned the case and how… it was being reopened. That's all. I just told him that it seemed like something he might be interested in. I wasn't trying to say too much. I just thought it fair to tell him. I figured that if he left right away, it would be a sure sign that he was guilty. But he never left. So that made me think that either he's not guilty and has no reason to run or… he's simply not afraid of being caught."

"I can think of a few other things that might keep him from leaving Santa Rosa," Jack quietly mumbled to himself. "Or certain people."

"As far as I know, he's not frightened by the police. He's still here, after all. And I can be the best help you'll ever receive!" Herb said, ignoring Jack's comment.

Jack looked up, his train of thought broken. "Mr. Hawkins, don't you see what you might have done? Imagine if he had run! It would be much more difficult to catch him."

"But that's the point! He didn't run, did he?"

"No. But now he's bound to be more suspicious of you. That won't help the case if I do decide to have you assist us."

"With all due respect, Mr. Graham," Herb began, his hands shaking. "Mr. Oakley knows that you're a detective, doesn't he?"

"Yes." Jack looked up, intrigued.

"And did he know that you were investigating his case two years ago when he was here?"

"I think so. I believe he figured it out. Either that or Charlie told him. I don't remember any more. What are you getting at?"

"Well, if the man knew that you were a _detective_ planning on finding a way to catch him and he still didn't have a problem with you coming over almost every night, what makes you think he'll be worried about me? He won't know that I'm helping you. For all he knows, I wasn't even referring to him when I brought up the Merry Widow Murderer last week."

"I suppose that's true," Jack admitted. "And no doubt he thinks you're a little peculiar anyway, so there's always the chance that he forgot about what you said."

"What do you mean, peculiar?" Herb asked, straightening himself.

"All right, Mr. Hawkins. You win. If you want to help us, I think you'll prove to be a very valuable asset."

"What do you mean, pecul- Oh!" Herb suddenly turned pale from all the excitement. "You mean I can help you?"

"That's what I told you, Mr. Hawkins."

"Oh! Thank you, Mr. Graham." Herb shook Jack's hand with a surprising amount of vehemence.

"The first thing that I'll have to do is acquaint you with all of the particulars of the cases," Jack began, reseating himself and opening several large folders that had been precariously situated on the edge of his already unorganized desktop.

As intrigued as Herb was with the cases, he forced Jack to repeat himself many times for the first several minutes of his case description. For the first time in his life, Herb Hawkins was feeling so completely exhilarated he found it to be nearly impossible to sit still and stop smiling.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Chapter 24_**

Charles Oakley sat on the edge of his bed, his face clasped within his fingers. "This is getting to be too much for me," he said at last. After a moment, he peered up, surprised to not be receiving a reply.

"I'm sorry?" Ann said, glancing up from the top of her novel. "Did you say anything important? I wasn't listening."

"I said that this is too much," Charles repeated, pacing from one side of the room to the other.

"Will you please stop doing that, Osborne? You look like an anxious dog. It's making me feel nauseous."

After shooting a brief glare towards her, he reluctantly reseated himself. "I don't know why I came here. I broke up the wedding. That should be enough for me. And yet I'm still here. I could be risking everything, and yet I'm… still here."

"So leave then," Ann suggested apathetically. "You accomplished what you set out to do. If you wanted to do any more, you would. But you're not, so you might as well leave and let us move on. I think I'm about ready to have Charlie out of my room anyway."

"What do you mean, 'if I wanted to do any more'?" he questioned, suddenly in a bad humor.

"You know exactly what I mean," Ann snapped, closing her book dramatically. "All you'd have to do is get the adoption reversed. It's not that difficult."

"What if there are legal issues involved?" Charles asked, crossing to her.

"Of course there are going to be legal issues involved. You were _adopted_ for goodness's sake!" Ann sprawled out on the floor, thinking deeply. "But I doubt it would take that long. And if you're not biologically or legally part of the Oakley family… you can finally have what you want." At this, she turned onto her stomach and stared at him with a snide smile. He stared back at her, disconcerted.

"It's not that simple, Ann. No matter what's true legally or biologically, I've still been her uncle for the first twenty-seven years of her life."

"That didn't seem to bother her out on the back porch a few weeks ago."

"I'd thank you to stop constantly bringing that up. It was an accident on both our parts and it's absolutely malicious of you to constantly mention it."

"Was it?" she asked, struggling to her feet. "Was it a mere _mistake_? Or… Maybe you always knew that you weren't related to her. Maybe… you just _knew_ for some reason."

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed.

"It happened in a book I read," she explained with a shrug. "A boy finds himself falling in love with his sister. That's when he figures out he's not really related to his 'biological' family at all. It had been one huge mistake."

"You read too much," he flipped, lifting one of his shoes from the floor, beginning to compulsively polish it.

"And anyway… There's always been something strange about your relationship with her. All her life she was the first one to admit that the two of you were 'more' than uncle and niece. 'We're like twins,' she would say. I soon grew quite tired of listening to it."

"Yes, Ann. Because my falling in love with my twin would be _infinitely_ better than falling for my niece."

"Ah ha!" Ann gasped, pointing at him accusingly. "I _knew_ it! You _are_ in love with her! I've been waiting for you to finally admit it. I'm so glad you did."

"What on earth's the matter with you?" he asked, scrunching his face in disgust. "I never-"

"Don't deny it," she warned. "I heard you and I wouldn't listen to one word of denial. Not that you really needed to say it. I knew all along."

"Yes, you've mentioned that," he grumbled, running the polish over his shoe in steady strokes.

"Two words: _Adoption reversal_!" she urged.

"Ann," he snapped, standing from his chair and leading her to the door. "Why are you here? Don't you have other children to play with?"

"I'm not a child, Osborne!" she said defensively, jerking her arm away. "And this is a serious matter we're discussing. You know, you _do_ look terrible. The bright lighting in here is showing off your every gray hair and wrinkle."

"It's not the lighting, I'm afraid," he admitted, crossing back to his chair, no longer motivated to throw her out. "This is what comes from not sleeping for two years."

"It's a shame," Ann remarked, returning to her place on the rug. "You're handsome enough. But that fatigue isn't doing you justice. You really should go to a doctor. Maybe a psychiatrist." Ann thought about this for a moment. "Yes," she continued with a grin. "_Definitely _a psychiatrist. While you're at it, bring Charlie. I think a psychiatrist would have a field day examining the two of you."

"Ann, if you knew all that goes on in my mind, you'd never suggest a psychiatrist," Charles mumbled, his eyes growing dark.

"All the more reason for you to see one," she flipped. "You know, Osborne, I've been thinking…"

"Stop calling me Osborne!" he demanded. The room became disturbingly quiet for a minute, but at last his curiosity got the better of him. "Well? Don't leave me hanging in suspense. What have you been thinking?"

"Just about you and my sister. Supposing you do get an adoption reversal, what would you do then? You couldn't really stay in Santa Rosa to marry her. That might cause a stir, whether you're related to her or not. Would you take her away?"

"I suppose I'd have to, wouldn't I?" he asked pensively. "Not that this will ever happen."

"But supposing it did… You could take her away… to another country maybe! Charlie would love to travel. And you've been everywhere, haven't you?"

"I started traveling the world when I was sixteen years old," he muttered, slowly drifting into a daydream. "Not much older than you."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Ann muttered. "You'd be much better for her than Jack. And I don't hate Jack or anything. I bet you do though."

Charles made no reply, but rested his chin on his hand and thought deeply for several minutes before finally waking from his reverie. "Ann," he called softly. She turned her head up curiously. "Ann, I think I need a moment alone. Go off by yourself for a while."

"All right, Osborne," she said, standing and crossing to the door. "Don't do or say anything too interesting until I come back. Now that you know about me, I might as well not bother sneaking around to keep up with what's going on around here. Sneaking and eavesdropping become rather tiresome after a while." As soon as he heard the door shut behind her, Charles crossed to the small vanity in the back of the room, located several sheets of paper as well as a fountain pen and began to write. He wrote for what seemed to be an eternity- until he heard Emma's voice calling him from downstairs, bidding him to dinner.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Chapter 25_**

Charles Oakley slowly descended the stairs, peering down cautiously to see who was nearby. The only person he saw was Charlie, who was on her way to the dining room. As soon as she noticed him, she stopped mid-step and waited for him to join her.

"Hello, Charlie," he muttered, inconspicuously folding a piece of paper and placing it in his coat.

"I was wondering if you were coming down," she said with a slight grin.

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied, opening the door to the dining room for her.

"Oh, no reason. You just have been acting…" She glanced around, noticing that the dining room was silent and her voice was rather piercing in comparison. "Rather peculiar today…" she continued, checking her volume.

"I see," he mumbled, pulling her chair out for her before sitting next to her. "Just a little tired, dear."

"I do hope it came out all right," Emma said fretfully as she placed a rather crispy pork roast in the middle of the table.

"It looks divine, Emmy," Charles said with a charming smile. "As always."

Approximately halfway through the dinner, Charles was struck with an idea. He turned his eyes to Charlie, who had been quiet all through the meal. In order to conceal the intensity that he felt would be noticeable in his tone he smiled once more.

"Charlie," he began hesitantly. She looked up from her plate, her eyes brightened. "I was… just wondering if you had any plans for the evening."

"No, none at all. Why?"

"Oh, I was just…" He rubbed his napkin between his fingers, trying to think of a reason for his inquiry. "Wondering if you were planning on leaving the house."

"No. I wasn't planning to. Why? Would you like to take me somewhere?"

Ann glanced up with a small grin, immediately observing the fact that Charlie seemed a bit too eager when she asked this.

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere, dear. I was just wondering if you were going anywhere."

"No, I don't think so. I was just planning on going to bed early."

She was slightly intrigued by his peculiar questioning, but did not want to pry.

As soon as dinner was over, Charles quickly disappeared from the dinner table and made his way to the coat closet. He glanced about the room, assuring that no one had entered. He rifled through several jackets until he located Charlie's coat. He shuffled through his pockets until he found the paper he had previously hidden. He folded it again and placed it in one of the gloves he found within the coat's pocket. Footsteps could suddenly be distinguished moving in the direction of the closet and as soon as he perceived this, Charles closed the door and moved towards the stairs.

"Going upstairs so soon?" Charlie asked, gazing up at him as he made his way to the top step.

"Just for a while, dear. I think I might lie down."

"All right." She watched him with a slight grin until he had disappeared. She was about to lounge on the sofa when she heard her mother's voice calling her from the kitchen, distressed. "What is it, Mother?" she called, struggling to her feet and moving towards the kitchen.

"I just remembered something," Emma cried solemnly. "It was supposed to be a wedding surprise for you."

"What is it, Mother?"

"The necklace! I was supposed to pick up the necklace from the jeweler's weeks ago!"

"What necklace?"

"For your wedding! The necklace that all Oakley women wear on their wedding days. I sent it to the jewelers several weeks ago and meant to pick it up but… I completely forgot!"

"Oh, that's not such a problem, Mother," Charlie assured her with a bright smile. "I'll pick it up for you tomorrow morning."

"No, my dear. I have to pick it up tonight! The jeweler, Mr. Franklin, is going to the east coast for a month. It's his yearly vacation. I can't believe I forgot about it!"

"Oh Mother," Charlie said fretfully. "Of all times to remember. When is he leaving?"

"Not till Monday. But today is Saturday and he usually doesn't open his shop on Sundays."

"Oh Mother!" Charlie exclaimed. "This is quite the predicament. But can't you pick it up when he returns?"

"I suppose I could," she mumbled. "But I really don't like to leave something that valuable in a closed jeweler's shop for a month." Charlie crossed to the coat closet with an annoyed sigh. "Where are you going?" Emma asked enthusiastically.

"Well, if you need to have the necklace, I better go now before he closes the shop." She glanced at the clock hanging above the mantle in the living room. "Oh dear. It's almost seven-thirty. I hope he hasn't closed shop yet."

"I think he closes at eight. If you go now you might just make it in time."

Charlie placed her coat over her shoulders and moved swiftly towards the front door.

************************************************************************

Charlie pulled her arms through her coat sleeves as she slowly strolled towards her house, safely clutching the necklace's case in one hand. The sun was no longer visible and the sudden darkness motivated her to walk a bit more swiftly. As she approached her street, she felt the sudden compulsion to peer down at the necklace. She opened the box gently, so as to avoid dropping the precious heirloom onto the streets. She smiled softly, rubbing her finger over the opal, which was encircled by a dainty ring of pearls. The necklace was undoubtedly beautiful, but for some reason, she could not picture it hanging about her throat. Her mother undoubtedly looked divine wearing it, as well as her grandmother and every other Oakley woman who had been fortunate enough to wear it with a sweet, radiant expression. But if Charlie had worn it as originally planned, she could hardly picture herself smiling. In fact, it would have been the biggest mistake of her life… one that she admittedly was glad to be saved from.

As she made her way up the porch steps, she was about to reach for the doorknob when she realized that her glove had dropped from her pocket. She lifted it from the porch and was about to shove it back into the pocket when she perceived a stiff, creased object within it. She reached into the glove with her thumb and index finger, only to find a single sheet of paper, which had been folded several times. After placing the necklace on a small table near the front door, Charlie returned to the porch and unfolded the paper curiously. After several minutes, her cheeks had turned alarmingly pale. She struggled to prevent her eyes from moistening, took a deep breath, and bravely entered the house, storming up the stairs towards her bedroom.

************************************************************************

Charles was stretched across the bed, smoking his cigar with a rather pensive expression on his somber features when he heard persistent pounding on his door.

"Come in," he called. Charlie opened the door and stood in the doorway, staring at him furiously. "Charlie…" he began, attempting to smile, though he found it difficult not to stare at her with utter astonishment.

"I'd just like to tell you that I think it was…_well-planned_… for you to take the time to give me a brief explanation of why you're abandoning us. Because if you had simply disappeared without so much as a good-bye, I might have reason to believe that you're the cruelest, most inconsiderate person I've ever met. But _this_…" She lifted the letter angrily, her tone becoming more and more sarcastic as her aggravation increased. "_This_ makes a difference. I don't know how you ever came to be so thoughtful." Before he could reply, she vanished from the doorway and skipped down the stairs speedily, well aware that he was following (or rather, chasing) her. Though she moved quickly, he had managed to catch up with her by the time she had crossed the front yard.

"Charlie, will you at least listen to me?" he demanded, taking her by the arm with an injurious grip.

"Why should I? This letter makes it all _perfectly_ clear!" she exclaimed, tugging her arm away violently.

"It wasn't my intention to abandon you."

"Oh really?" she asked, staring up at him with amazement. "Well then please explain what _this_ is all about! Because I've been led to believe that that's exactly what you're planning to do."

"Don't you understand me? I have to leave you! After all that's happened-" Charles quickly glanced around, suddenly aware that anyone might be watching. "Come here." He took her arm once more and led her to the porch. "Look, I really do wish that I could explain this to you, Charlie. But I can't. It would be too much of a shock for you."

"I'm not a child anymore," she said, frustrated. "I can handle the truth. If you don't care about me or anyone else who loves you here, then I guess I'll try to accept that. But I think I deserve a better form of farewell from you than a few words on a piece of paper."

Charles gazed into her sharp, agitated eyes, suddenly struck with the urge to fold her in his arms as he had done several weeks before. However, he resisted this temptation, only allowing himself to gently brush a strand of hair from her forehead. She turned her face from him irritably.

"Don't touch me," she whispered miserably, crossing towards the door.

"Charlie, I'll tell you the truth," he said bluntly, able to contain himself no longer.

She turned and peered at him, trying to conceal her curiosity, for she was still quite livid. "Truth? That's a first for you, isn't it?"

"I'll tell you everything. Everything that I've been trying to hide for your own good. I won't promise that you'll be happy to hear any of it, but I… I can't leave with you thinking that I don't care about you or your family."

She took a step closer to him, absent-mindedly placing the letter on the banister's ledge. "It's your family too, you know."

He shifted his eyes to the floor, smiling bitterly. "Not exactly, dear."

She raised an eyebrow softly. "What?"

"Come upstairs with me. There's something that I think you should probably see."

Though she attempted to remain cool with him, she quickly found herself taking his arm as he led her inside, completely forgetting about the letter that she had abandoned on the banister's ledge.


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter 26_**

Charles slowly followed his companion up the stairs, leading her towards his room, hesitating for a brief moment before turning on the lights, as though the darkness might conceal his history, at least for the time being. But to his disappointment, her patience had come to a standstill and with the silent flick of a switch the room was flooded with artificial lighting.

"Well?" she prodded, seating herself on the bed, crossing her legs and clasping her hands around her knee firmly.

He loitered in the doorway, his eyes closed, making one last attempt to create some sort of distraction that would lead her away from her upcoming discovery. "Maybe we could have a drink first-"

"No. _Now_," she insisted.

His eyes widened, he made one last gesture of frustration before crossing to the vanity, where he located a small wooden box. "Here's your truth," he said miserably, carelessly tossing the box onto the bed next to her.

She glanced up at him, puzzled. Placing the box on her lap, she carefully lifted the cover and reached into it, pulling out a large stack of papers. She stared up at him, furrowing an eyebrow. "This?" she asked, lifting the papers. "This is your secret?"

"Well, read through it, dear!" he demanded impatiently, shuffling through his suitcase.

She promptly did as she was directed, only partially paying attention at first (for his constant movement as he rifled through his suitcase proved to be a rather irritating distraction), but she was soon engrossed in her reading material. After what seemed to be the longest half-hour of Charles Oakley's (or rather, Charles Osborne's) life, she lifted her eyes from the papers and gazed at him in amazement, unable to find the words she yearned to speak.

"How long…" she began in a hoarse whisper. "How long have you known about…" Her words trailed off as she gently pointed towards the papers on her lap.

"Several weeks maybe," he murmured, now emptying the suitcase's contents onto the floor.

"Why on earth wouldn't you tell me about this?" she asked, still staring at him with astonishment.

"I hardly thought that you would wish to know," he stated. "After all that happened…"

"Well, don't you see?" she began excitedly. He glanced up at her, surprised to see a sweet smile on her soft features. "This doesn't make it worse. It makes it better. Don't you understand? Now it all makes sense. There's nothing wrong with us at all!"

"I wouldn't say that, dear," he said with a dry smile.

"All right. Perhaps that's not completely accurate. But at least we know why we feel- that is…" She took a deep breath, hoping that perhaps he hadn't heard her. Unfortunately, his eyes quickly turned to her, obviously startled.

"Feel what, Charlie?" he asked, no longer caring if she heard the intensity in his voice.

"No. I didn't mean that." Charlie was willing to admit to being a rather horrendous liar. "Well, it explains why we didn't have any scruples against… well… you know. That is, when we weren't… _quite ourselves_."

"Charlie, I'm very tired, to say the least. Don't speak in a code. Just tell me once and for all… You know, I wouldn't have allowed you to see any of this if it weren't for…" His heart racing, he lifted himself from his knees and moved towards her. "Charlie, do you care about me or not?"

She stared up at him almost frightened to hear what words might leave her lips. "Well… Of course I care for you."

"How so?"

She desperately wished that he wouldn't ask her such blunt questions. "I… don't know what you-"

"Am I your dear Uncle Charlie or am I… something more? Something entirely different. That's all I want to know."

"Oh…" She lifted herself from the bed, allowing the papers to scatter across the floor, and crossed to him slowly. "I think you know the answer to that question. But think about it. I'm just now finally getting to know you! We've always had this deep bond, you and I. Clearly it's not because of genetics. It's something else. But how can I really answer these types of questions until I learn about you?"

"And how are you planning on learning about me?" he asked, grinning warmly.

"Well…" Her eyes drifted towards the box on the bed. She smiled brightly, hardly even aware that he had discreetly wrapped his arms around her waist. "Well this is how, of course!" To his disappointment, she quickly pulled away and crossed to the box, lifting it excitedly. "There's plenty of information about you in this. Have you read any of it yet?"

"No I haven't. I only read what was on the top of the stack."

"Oh," she mumbled disapprovingly. "Well, it's your history, after all. I'd think you would want to know about it."

"You know, you're taking this news much more calmly than I did," he observed, returning his attention to the suitcase.

"Well, it's just that…" She immediately lost her train of thought as she watched him persistently shuffling through the suitcase. "What are you looking for?" she asked, finally becoming annoyed.

He briefly glanced up. "I'm led to believe that your devilish little sister stole my flask."

"Your flask?" she repeated, slowly dropping to her knees in order to assist him in his search. "Why would she do a thing like that?"

"You're questioning the motives of that sadistic little creature? I wouldn't delve into anything quite so warped and hideous if I were you, Charlie. My guess is that she did it because she knew it would agitate me. That seems to be her common motive for acting."

After several minutes of searching, Charlie struggled to her feet. "Never mind about the flask. Why do you need it so badly? You've no reason to be nervous. Not about this, anyway. I'm glad you've told me the truth. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And don't you see what this means?" She took hold of his arm and gently pulled him from the suitcase onto his feet. "This means that we can finally understand who you are… why you feel the way you do…"

"Oh Charlie!" he exclaimed with a cynical scoff. "You really think that a full analysis and explanation of why I am the man that I am today could be found in a little box your sister found in the attic?"

"Well, maybe not. But it certainly might answer a few questions. Wait…" She fixed her gaze on him, suddenly taken aback. "My sister? You mean… Ann found this? Why would Ann be-"

"She found it by accident. Apparently Emmy had it all this time. It's hard to believe that Emmy was able to keep a secret like this… She'd still be keeping it if it weren't for Ann…" He gazed ahead of him, hardly even aware of Charlie's presence as he spoke.

"As far as she knows, she _is_ still keeping it."

His attention quickly returned to her. He grinned in his familiar, charming way, gently pulling her towards him. "Now it's our secret, dear."

"One that I'll always keep, if you'd like." She slowly clasped her hands behind his neck.

"Charlie…" He hesitated, not entirely certain if he should continue with his inquiry. "If events had been different… If I had never… revealed myself as a… that is, if you had never discovered the truth about me…"

"I assume you're referring to the events of two years ago."

"Yes… Imagine if we had just met… If the Oakleys had never adopted me. Do you think that we would have ever been able to…"

"I understand what you're asking me. And… Yes, we would have been able to… you know. After all, we've never had a typical relationship, have we? I've called you my uncle, but the truth is… You're closer to me than any uncle I could ever hope for. I never really understood why we were so close… And now I think I might be able to."

"Remember… the answer to our problems can't be found in a wooden box."

"Maybe not… But isn't it worth our time to at least look?" She couldn't tell if he was actually listening to her. He ran his fingers through her hair and leaned in towards her. "Come on! Let's at least start reading," she said promptly, rapidly pulling from his embrace and returning her attention to the box. She emptied the papers onto the floor and once again dropped to her knees. "Well, come on!" she prompted, gesturing towards the floor next to her. Reluctantly he situated himself on the floor and began to flip through several papers that she had placed before him.

It took Charlie several hours before she had finished meticulously reading through each page of her stack. When she had finished, she smiled with delight. "Unc- I mean… Charles… Listen to this. It's very interesting. Though I suppose you might not find it to be very thrilling. After all, they were your parents. But it turns out your father had abandoned your mother shortly after she informed him that she was going to have a baby. Apparently she was emotionally fragile to begin with… but when he abandoned her, it sent her off the edge. She wasn't married to him and… I suppose the pressure was just too much for her. Anyway, she ended up in a mental institution for temporary treatment and after you were born, she was sent to a sanitarium for an _indefinite_ amount of time. They never could find your father. But you were quickly moved to an orphanage in California. When you were three years of age, the Oakleys adopted you. That was in… 1908. I found all of this in the report attached to several adoption papers. And listen to this… It's from Grandmother's old diary… At that point in time, she already had healthy children, but she couldn't have any more. That's why she insisted on adopting you. It says here that, though you were a dear child, within a matter of weeks, she began to realize that perhaps there was something… peculiar about you. And after your bicycle accident… Well, don't you see? And you told me I wouldn't find anything in this box. It's practically filled with valuable information. And it explains so much about why you behave… the way that you do. It might be genetic. After all, your mother was declared insane. Maybe now that you know this, it will help you understand why it is that you feel certain ways about… Well, you know. Anyway, you have to admit, I was right. Isn't it just fascinating, Uncl- I mean, Charles?" After a brief silent moment, Charlie glanced up, surprised. "Charles?" She fixed her eyes on him, only now realizing that he had drifted into what appeared to be a very deep sleep. It was the most peaceful she had seen him since he arrived… Truthfully, it was the most peaceful she had _ever_ seen him. Though she couldn't help but feel a little frustrated that he was showing so little interest in his own past, she didn't blame him for sleeping. If he could suddenly sleep now, after two years of being plagued with insomnia, something must have changed for him. And as she stared down at his hand, with was gently encompassing her own, she was suddenly aware of what might have caused this fortunate change.

All of a sudden, she became aware of her own fatigue. Not feeling motivated to stand and move to Ann's room, she quietly slouched from her stiff position and leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyelids becoming heavier with every passing second. She did not reopen her eyes until she was accosted with bright rays of morning sunlight streaming in from her window.


	27. Chapter 27

**_Chapter 27_**

Morning sunlight streamed into Charlie's bedroom, waking her from her state of unconsciousness. Rubbing her neck, which had become rather stiff, she lifted her head from Charles' shoulder and glanced at the papers that she had previously scattered onto the floor. She craned her neck towards the clock sitting on her nightstand to see that it was nine-thirty. She fixed her attention on Charles, who had not woken once since he first fell asleep.

With a warm grin, she succumbed to the sudden impulse to softly stroke him, lightly running her fingers down his face admiringly. Perhaps there was something terribly wrong with him, she thought to herself. She knew that there was indeed something wrong with his mind. But for some reason, this did not matter to her anymore. He was such a strong, intimidating man when he was awake, despite all of his charm. However, as he slept, she couldn't help but be reminded of the picture she had always treasured of him as a child. In his current state, she could hardly believe that a single fault could be found in him. And then another impulse overtook her and once again, she succumbed…

However, she almost immediately regretted it. Pressing a gentle kiss on a sleeping man only maintains its charm if said man does not open his eyes during said kiss, an expression of shock spread across his face.

She pulled away from him quickly, endeavoring to stand, despite the fact that her entire left leg had gone numb. She stumbled away, making a few inaudible excuses as she opened the door. He leapt to his feet with far more agility and managed to close the door before she had escaped through it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheeks flushed with mortification.

"Don't be," he said simply, pulling her away from the door towards him.

"You just looked so peaceful," she explained, her voice beginning to crack.

"I don't blame you. I would have done the very same thing if I had been the first to awaken."

"You would have?" she asked, hesitantly raising her eyes to his.

"You don't believe me?" he asked with a half-grin. "Well…" He pulled her slightly closer. "Perhaps I should prove it to you."

"Oh, I don't need-" Her words were immediately cut off with a sudden kiss that caused her knees to nearly give way under her.

"You believe me now?" he asked, pulling away just enough for him to be able to look at her.

"I believed you from the beginning," she replied, gently swaying back and forth in his embrace.

"You're certain? Because I'm quite willing to do a little more convincing…" Before she could reply, he proceeded with his 'convincing'. This continued for several minutes until a sound of disgust came from the doorway.

"You really should give me some kind of warning if you plan on acting this way, Osborne!" Ann exclaimed.

"I don't recall inviting you in!" he replied dryly, holding Charlie closer, despite the fact that she was making a rather weak endeavor to release herself from his embrace.

"Sorry, Osborne. I think it might take a little time for me to get used to the idea. Because right now, it's still making me a little ill. I don't care how different your genes are from ours."

"Did you come for a reason, Ann?" Charlie asked, becoming slightly impatient.

"Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Mother sent me. Oh! Wait a minute. Does this mean that you told her the truth, Osborne? Ha! I told you that you should. You weren't going to listen to me. But I knew you'd come to your senses."

"Tell me what, Ann? Why do you keep calling him Osborne? I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Charlie said innocently, trying to hide a devious smile as she laid a rather wet kiss on his cheek. "Doesn't Uncle Charlie just look _ravishing_ today?"

Ann's face turned deathly pale and for the first time in her life, she was utterly speechless. Though slightly disturbed by this cruel, sadistic side of Charlie's sense of humor that he had only seen in her sister, Charles could not help but smile with delight.

"You mean-" Ann began with a horrified grimace. Before she could succumb to her nausea, Charlie was kind enough to release her laughter that she had been suppressing for the past minute. "Oh!" Ann exclaimed, suddenly quite relieved. "For a minute, I thought… Never mind. I mean, when I thought that it was bothering your conscience, the whole thing amused me. But to think that you didn't know the truth about him and simply _didn't care_ that he was your unc-"

"Ann, go eat breakfast! Tell Emmy we'll be down in a few minutes," Charles ordered.

"Oh fine. I suppose you've waited long enough to have these _special_ moments together. I won't stand in your way." Before he could reply, Ann disappeared from the room.

Charlie stared up at him with a sly grin. "So, she knew all the time. You've known. And yet you _still_ weren't going to tell me the truth. Someday I'll understand you, Unc- I mean, Charles."

"Yes. I have to ask you to please refrain from calling me 'Uncle Charlie' from this point on."

Charlie laughed quietly to herself, placing her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'll try to remember. You're Charles now. Yes, I like that. But don't you think it might seem a little bizarre to people if I'm Charlie and you're Charles?"

"I'll call you Charlotte, if you'd like," he replied with a pleasant smile.

She thought about this for a moment. "Yes, I like it when you say it. The only one who's ever called me that has been Ann. It sounds much nicer when you say it. But I don't think we can make this transition until after we've gone. It might seem a little odd to Mother if I start calling you Charles, don't you think?"

"That's fine. You better go get dressed into something new. Your mother might wonder why you're wearing the same dress you had on last night."

Charlie glanced down, surprised. "Oh! I had completely forgotten. I'll meet you downstairs." At this, she gave him one last peck before rushing away in the direction of Ann's room.

************************************************************************

Herb Hawkins quietly stepped up the front steps of the Newton's home at approximately one o'clock in the afternoon. He was about to enter without bothering to so much as knock, when a small object situated on the banister caught his attention. He lifted it carefully and glanced around to make certain that no one was near him. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper. His heart raced as soon as he recognized the signature on the letter, which he had studied earlier when he was with Mr. Graham. Hiding the paper in his pocket, he moved to the side of the house and stood behind a large oak tree, assuring that no one would be able to watch him. He carefully pulled out the letter, becoming annoyed by the fact that he couldn't control his hands' shaking.

Though generally he preferred to read aloud, he realized that this was not an option at the present time. Therefore, he was forced to read it silently to himself.

"_June 25th, 1945_

_My dearest girl,_

_For inexplicable reasons, I must regretfully leave you and your family. By the time you receive this letter, I'll probably have been gone for at least a day. I hope you don't think I left because I don't care for you. If the truth be told, my feelings are quite the contrary, as I believe you know._

_I've told you many times that you mean more to me than any other living soul. I love you more than anything in the world. For this reason, I must depart. I've already ruined your chances of marrying Jack, which I still do not regret, in the least. This was my goal in coming to Santa Rosa and now that it's been accomplished, I have no reason to stay. After all that has occurred between you and me, I hardly think it likely that you would want me to stay any longer._

_I've mistreated you in far too many ways, my dear, and I think it time for this to come to an end. It's bad enough that I forced you to bear the burden of keeping the truth about my 'criminal' activities a secret for these past two years. I'll be forever in your debt for all the kind services you have done for me. After the way I treated you then, I partially expected that you might reveal the truth about me out of spite. But I suppose it didn't really surprise me that you kept silent on the issue. You always have been my dearest confidante and the troubles we have faced together have only caused us to become more intimate, to say the least._

_My love for you has become regrettably strong and I don't think it wise for me to remain here if we are to keep our secrets between us and salvage whatever might be left of a somewhat decent relationship, which I sincerely believe is the dearest thing I could ever hope to maintain. I do hope that you'll understand me and won't shed too many tears at my expense._

_With all my affection,_

_Charles Oakley."_

Herb caressed the paper as though it were an irreplaceable treasure. He moved stiffly towards the street, preparing to depart, when he was suddenly startled by the sound of his own name. Before responding, he shoved the letter into a pocket and wiped the perspiration from his palms.

"Hello, Mr. Oakley," he said meekly.

"When did you arrive, Herbie?" Charles asked, smiling cordially as he crossed the front lawn.

"Oh, Onl- Only a f-few moments ago, Mr.-Mr. Oakley." Herb's stuttering made him feel as though he were a complete disgrace to undercover detectives everywhere.

"Don't be afraid, Herb. I'm not going to _hurt _you." For every step Charles took in Herb's direction, Herb made two more steps in the opposite direction.

"I- I just remembered something!" Herb exclaimed excitedly.

Charles watched him, a dark expression covering his features as he watched Herb nearly run down the street in a rather ridiculous fashion.


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter 28_**

"Charlie," Charles called as he hurriedly crossed the living room towards her. "I need to see you for a minute."

"Is something wrong, Charles?" asked Emma worriedly, taking note of his somewhat frazzled appearance.

"No, not at all," he replied, unsuccessfully attempting to control the intensity of his tone. "It's nothing important. I just… need to talk to Charlie for a minute." As he led (or rather, dragged) Charlie out of the room, he could feel Emma's inquisitive stare on the back of his neck. But he could not care. He had no time to conjure up an excuse for his peculiar behavior. As they approached his bedroom upstairs, Charles finally released his grasp on her arm, which was beginning to bruise after several weeks of his constantly clutching it.

"What on earth's the matter with you?" she asked, rubbing her arm with slight annoyance. "Mother's bound to become suspicious if you constantly do little things like that in front of her."

"Charlie, listen to me," he entreated, leading her to the bed where they both sat. "I think we… or rather… I… might be in some terrible trouble. You know that letter I wrote to you?"

"You haven't found it yet, have you?" she asked miserably.

"No," he began hesitantly. "But it's worse than that… I think somebody else has found it."

Her eyes widened in abject panic. "Somebody else?" she repeated weakly. "Who found it?"

"Your father's friend, Herb Hawkins."

"And you're absolutely certain about this?" she asked.

"Well, not _absolutely _certain. But I haven't found it in any of the places you brought it. And earlier when I was out on the front lawn, I caught him off-guard. He was reading something and as soon as he saw me, he put it away and ran in the opposite direction."

"Well, come now, Unc- I mean, Charles. After all, Herb's always been a little… socially awkward. Perhaps he was just nervous around you. That's to be expected."

"Charlie, listen to me. I didn't want to tell you this because… I was afraid it might upset you. But a while back, I had been speaking to him. He gave me the distinct impression that… perhaps he knew a little more about me than I would have expected."

She stared at him for several seconds, too stunned to speak. "You mean… But how could he know? Oh…" Charlie's cheeks turned pale as she suddenly remembered a certain phone call she had received from Jack, which she was fairly certain Herb might have accidentally overheard. "Oh dear…"

"What? What is it, Charlie?"

"Well… When I was still engaged to Jack, he called me with rather upsetting news. Do you remember how when you took me out that day, Jack had gone out of town because he was being forced to reopen an old case? Well… That old case… was yours. He was telling me about it on the telephone the next morning and I think Herb accidentally picked up the other receiver. He acted rather strangely when I saw him and… I think that's how he found out about you being a… murder _suspect_. But with that letter, he must know everything now. If he takes it to the police…" Her eyes widened once more, the realization of what might occur suddenly striking her.

"We've got to get that letter," Charles mumbled.

"Yes we do. But how?"

After a moment of thought, Charles suddenly grinned in a very devious way, causing Charlie to raise an eyebrow. "Well, I could always…" He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began twisting it tightly in a homicidal manner. Charlie watched in horror. "Charlie," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I was only joking."

Charlie arched an eyebrow in disgust. "Rather tasteless, wouldn't you say?"

Charles decided to ignore the question. "Besides, Charlie, Herb doesn't fit the profile of my usual victims. If nothing else, I must remain consistent."

"Funny," she murmured with a slight scoff. "You didn't seem to have a problem deviating from your usual profile when you thought I might tell your secret."

"That was a while ago," he replied sheepishly, crossing from the bed to the door. "I've changed since then."

"I know you have," she said, following him. "if you hadn't, I never would be helping you now. Don't worry. I'll find some way to get that letter. I'll talk to Herb. He's always been quite fond of me. Maybe I'll be able to convince him to remain quiet. It's a long shot, I suppose. But it's worth a try." Charles watched her, a melancholy expression on his face. After a moment, she took notice of this. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking… about you. About how happy and light-hearted you were two years ago. Back when you thought I was the most wonderful thing in the world." He gently held her face in his hands. "That innocence is gone now, isn't it? And I was the one who destroyed it."

She tried to smile. "What's the use of looking back? What's the use of looking ahead? Today's the thing. Isn't that your motto?"

"I'm not exactly sorry, Charlie. That's the odd thing. I should feel some kind of remorse, shouldn't I? But I've never felt remorse. I know that you all expect me to. The truth is, I can't think of one thing I would change about my life. I regret nothing. Unless, of course… All the things that I've done have pushed you farther away from me."

She grinned nervously, not sure of how she should respond to his impulsive sentimentality. "But you're sick. You must see that," she whispered, hoping that he would not be angered by her words. "I'm not going to say that this isn't your fault. It is your fault. You made your choices. You can't blame your unwise decisions on a mental illness. But… perhaps it's enough to make me… pity you."

"Pity me? Why?" he asked, slightly bewildered. "Perhaps I'll be caught. I might never see you again if that happens. Even so, I'll never regret the happy times we've spent together. Even the unhappy ones. I can't help but wonder if perhaps it might be better for you if I am caught."

"Oh, please don't say that! I'll never-"

"You could form a whole new life with me out of the way. Perhaps a life that's a little less dysfunctional."

"Is that what you think would make me happy?" she asked in disbelief. "I'd love a dysfunctional life! I've never wanted to be an average girl in an average family. I just want to go away with you. And if you can somehow escape from your punishment…"

He smiled at her contently, slowly stroking her face. "Sometimes I think I don't deserve you. You'd love me no matter what I might do. Even after I behaved like a crazed monster two years ago… Somehow you're able to forgive me."

She smiled warmly, her eyes gazing towards the floor. "Well, let's not think about that anymore. What's important is obtaining that letter. Herb usually comes here during supper. I'll find a way to talk to him then."


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 29_**

That following Sunday at approximately six o'clock in the evening, Herb Hawkins approached the Newton's residence. To his surprise, a suspiciously eager Charlie immediately greeted him.

"Herb!" she exclaimed, practically dragging him into the house.

"Um… Good evening, Charlie," he mumbled, unaccustomed to anyone exerting so much excitement for his sake. But he was hardly a fool. He was well aware of what was motivating her to act in such a peculiar fashion. He had to admit that it had been rather unwise of him to be so conspicuous when Mr. Oakley ad found him with the letter. He had been torturing himself over it for days. If Mr. Oakley had actually seen him reading the letter, he was practically a dead man. If he were a character in a book, he would have been done in immediately. For this reason, he had been avoiding the Newton's house. But even the security of his own home was not enough to calm his nerves. His imagination was at last proving to be his downfall.

Every time he stepped into his bathroom, he felt the need to heck the tub, meat cleaver in hand, prepared for the Merry Widow Murderer to leap out at him with vengeful fury. Truthfully, Herb was greatly opposed to the idea of killing someone with a meat cleaver. It seemed far too savage and unoriginal. He had always hoped that if he were to commit a murder, he would have the opportunity to use a unique weapon, like his hypodermic needles or his Indian arrow poisoning. But if a relatively young, strong serial killer were to leap out and attempt to strangle the life out of him, Herb's sensible side convinced him that perhaps elite weapons such as poisonous mushrooms might not be the best choice.

With an ill-fated attempt to seem casual, Herb crossed to the living room, stretching himself across the sofa awkwardly. As Charlie stared down at him, a melancholy expression upon her face, Herb resisted the impulse to wipe the perspiration from his brow. It was only a matter of time now, he thought.

As soon as he discovered the letter, Herb had made several attempts to call Jack Graham with news of his discovery. He was only able to contact him that previous night. Graham warned him that it would be unwise for him to speak over the telephone about the case, but assured him that he would return to Santa Rosa within the next couple of days. Until then, Herb was to remain calm and act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. This was incredibly difficult for Herb. He knew that Oakley would only grow in his suspicions if Herb suddenly stopped visiting all together. For this reason, he forced himself to leave the comfort of his own house and enter what he now mentally referred to as the Death Trap.

As Charlie scrutinized him, he felt compelled to grasp at the butter knife he had in his pocket. (Though he was aware that this was a slightly pathetic choice of weapon, he figured that a meat cleaver might not only prove to be conspicuous, but also, in all likelihood, would prove to be far more injurious to himself than Mr. Oakley).

Herb looked about, suddenly aware that the house was silent. "Uh… Charlie… Where is everyone?"

"My uncle took everyone out for ice cream," she explained calmly, sitting next to him on the sofa. Suddenly, Herb was feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh?" he asked nervously, trying to formulate a plan of escape. "Well, if your father isn't home, I suppose I should-"

"Don't go," she entreated, grasping his arm. Herb felt as though his stomach had leaped into his throat. As an aspiring detective, Herb was becoming more and more aware that his awkwardness around people was a great impairment. His skittish behavior around women, however, would certainly destroy him. "Herb," she whispered gently. "I think we should have a conversation, don't you?"

A drop of sweat slowly rolled down the back of his neck. "Do we?" he asked, attempting to be coy, though his voice was cracking. He felt her large, desperate eyes burning into the side of his face.

"I know- That is, we know… what you've discovered," she said quietly, placing a hand on his in an oddly comforting manner. Herb, however, was not feeling the least bit comforted. But he refused to succumb to her sweetness. "I can't expect you to return the evidence," she continued. "I have no right to ask anything of you. But you have to understand. I love him… so very much."

"Yes, I… _know_," he mumbled, trying to suppress a grimace.

Charlie arched her eyebrows, suddenly aware of what he must be thinking. "Oh! Herb! It's not what you're thinking! You're mistaken. I know what you must believe after reading that letter. But… rest assured… It's not-"

"Charlie," he interjected. "It's none of my business. You don't have to explain a thing to me. I'm only interested in… doing what's right."

"But you don't understand!" she exclaimed. "He's not my uncle! I mean… Not really. It's a long story and probably not one that he'd want me to spread. But I can't have you thinking that we're doing anything… _disreputable_."

"I believe you," he began, his heart beating pounding in his ears. "But I still know that he's a murderer and you're aiding him. That's disreputable to me."

Charlie could feel his hand shaking violently beneath her own. "Herb…" she began desperately. "Don't you think that if he really was the horrible monster you think he is, I would be the first person to turn him in? Forget what you read in that letter. You know me, Herb. You know my family. We all love him so very much. He's not the same person he was then. He's controlled now."

"Psychopaths don't change," he said simply.

"He's still sick. I'm not trying to convince you that he's become a warm, caring individual. But he needs to get well. And I can cure him. Or at least help him. I'm not claiming to be a doctor or anything. But I know that I'll be much more beneficial to him than a prison cell would be. After all, I'm the only thing in the world that he loves."

"And what happens when he stops caring about you?" Herb asked. "What if you have another 'accident' in the garage?"

Charlie suppressed a gasp, suddenly recalling the events of two years earlier that Herb obviously remembered as well. "I know there are risks, but-"

"I can't have your death on my conscience. And what about the others? Are you forgetting about the older women he robbed and murdered? What about the man who was falsely charged with his crime and ended up dead because of it?"

"It's all true," she said. "But how can I convince you that it's not the same now?"

"Maybe it's not the same," he replied, rising from the sofa. "But that won't excuse the past."

"Herb," she began, making one last desperate attempt to convince him as she followed him to the door. "I know you think that what you're doing is right. In a way it is. But I'm asking you to have some compassion. Not for him. For me."

Something about her tone as she said this caused Herb to stop and slowly turn his eyes to her. Till that point, he had only looked upon her as the villain's accessory. But he suddenly became aware that she was more than this. She was the daughter of his very best friend. And Charles Oakley was beloved by all of the Newtons. Perhaps he had no reason to have pity for Oakley. But by sending him away to prison, would he not be inflicting just as much pain upon the Newtons, his dearest friends and the closest thing he had to a family (besides his sickly old mother, of course)?

Until now, Herb ad found it to be incredibly easy to remain focused on his goal. But suddenly, the evidence he had in his pocket no longer filled him with a sense of pride. Rather, it caused him to feel guilty, despite his perfectly logical reasoning that condemned Mr. Oakley.

Silently, Herb left the Newton's residence, feeling completely confused and utterly miserable.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter 30**_

Jack Graham drove speedily past a sign welcoming him to Santa Rosa, a malicious grin upon his face. He admitted that he originally had a few doubts about whether or not hiring Herb Hawkins had beenthe best idea. But to his surprise, Hawkins had come through for him. For safety's sake, he had decided to wait until he could see Hawkins in person rather than having him elaborate on the details of his discovery over the telephone. But judging by the excitement in his voice when he told Jack that he had the necessary proof they had been searching for to put Oakley away, Jack was quite confident in their success.

When he talked to Hawkins earlier that morning, he wasn't sounding quite so enthusiastic about the case. But Jack was sure that he was probably just distracted. And even if he were not, it wouldn't exactly be anything out of the ordinary if Herb was acting a little strange.

As he approached the Newton's residence, Jack felt himself becoming rather queasy. Recalling his last visit to the house, he doubted that he would be overly welcome. But this wasn't a social visit. This was official business, just as it had been two years earlier. Only this time he refused to be taken in by the domestic enchantment of the small town family. To be more specific, he would _not_ succumb to the naïve sweetness of a small town girl. There was nothing sweet or innocent about her.

He had parked outside the house for nearly ten minutes before he was able to gather the courage he needed to exit the car. And just as he did so, as if it had been planned, Joseph Newton and Herb Hawkins strolled around the corner of the house, in the middle of a vehement discussion. Hawkins was the first to take notice of him. As soon as he did so, his expression turned to one of slight horror, as though he thought Jack was a ghost. Though he had proven himself to be an excellent assistant, Jack did wish that Hawkins might be a little less conspicuous.

"Jack Graham," Joe said awkwardly as Jack casually strolled towards them. "Uh… It's nice to see you again. I thought you and Charlie were…"

"I'm here on official business, Mr. Newton," Jack explained with professional coolness. "I hope this is a convenient time. There's something that must be discussed with all of you."

Joe appeared to be slightly stunned. "Official business, you say? Well, that's not something you want to hear from a detective. Do you think we're murderers or something?"

"Not all of you, Mr. Newton," Jack explained, ignoring Joe's unsuccessful attempt to ease the tension with humor. Joe chuckled nervously, disconcerted by the fact that Jack did not seem to be joking. "If you could, I'd appreciate it if you would gather the family in the living room. You might want to send the children upstairs."After giving Jack one last worried glance, Joe scurried towards the house, nearly knocking over Charlie as she hesitantly made her way to the porch.

She stared at Jack as he approached the steps, a loathing expression upon her face. "You can't do this, Jack."

He passed her without bothering to glance in her direction. "Actually," he mumbled, opening the door. "I finally can."

Charlie turned her eyes to Herb, who was still fidgeting awkwardly on the front lawn. Clearly he was no happier about this than she was. Charlie took a deep breath and turned towards the door, Herb trudging slowly behind her.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Chapter 31**_

Sitting next to Charlie on the sofa, Emma's eyes widened with astonishment. "Jack- That is, Mr. Graham… What are you-"

"You'll have to forgive me for my intrusion," he began calmly, slowly pacing from one side of the living room to the other, his hands clasped behind him, loitering about Charles in a cruel attempt to make him uncomfortable. For the time being, Charles remained cool.

"What's this all about?" Emma asked worriedly.

"As I've told your husband, I'm here on business, Mrs. Newton."

"Business?" she echoed with a queer grin. "I don't-"

"If you'llallow me to elaborate, I assure you that this will all be madequite clear," Jack interrupted, glancing towards Charlie, who was rubbing her temples. "Mrs. Newton, how familiar are you with popular murder cases?"

"Well, hardly at all. I'm not too interested in those types of things. But I'm sure that Joe could talk to you about them. Joe and Herb know everything about murder mysteries."

Jack smiled at the irony of this statement. "Yes, I am well aware of that. Are any of you familiar with a certain case that was all through the papers two years ago, where thekiller was known as the Merry Wid-"

"Widow Murderer?" Charles interrupted, causing Jack to nearly lose his train of thought. "Yes, Mr. Graham. I remember that case. I remember it too well." Charles turned his attention to Emma. Jack hovered over his chair with interest. "About two years ago, several older women were murdered and robbed. It was believed that this Merry Widow Murderer was killing all of them."

"I remember that case!" Joe exclaimed excitedly. "Didn't care much for it. Hey, didn't the killer run into an airplane propeller while trying to escape from the police?"

"The murder _suspect_ did that," Jack corrected. Charles glanced up at him with a sly grin.

"What he means by this," Charles elaborated with uncanny sangfroid, "is that there were actually two suspects at the time. One of them is dead. However, the other suspect remains." At this, he shifted towards Emma and Charlie once again, an eerie smile upon his face. "I have a secret, Emmy," he began in rather childish tone that might have made her think that he was about to confess to stealing another child's toy. "The truth is… I'm the Merry Widow Murderer."

As stunned as Emma seemed, her astonishment could not possibly match that of Charlie's. "Charles, what are-" Charlie began, her pitched unusually high.

"I can't keep this from all of you, Charlie," Charles continued, his voice remaining smooth despite the fact that he was giving Charlie a sharp, warning glance. "Perhaps I should correct myself. I'm the Merry Widow Murderer _suspect_. Emmy, do you remember when I came to visit several years ago? Well, the truth is, I was trying to escape. You've got to understand, Emmy. I wasn't guilty of anything, necessarily. I simply couldn't stand the harassment any longer."

"Then… You're not the murderer?" Emma asked after a moment of thought. She giggled nervously. "I mean, _of course_ you're not the murderer! Charles, you frightened me. For a moment, I thought… Oh, never mind. It's too horrible. And the thought of it! It's simply absurd!"

"Mrs. Newton," Jack interjected with a tone of disgust, finally able to collect his thoughts after this somewhat unexpected blow. "Your brother may deny it, but he is still a very shady suspect in this case."

"_Suspect_ is the key word, isn't it, Jack?" Charlie said with a threatening glare.

"And as I recall, Mr. Graham, that case was closed two years ago," Charles said. "So unless you have some kind of proof against me (which I highly doubt you have), I don't believe that you have any reasonable cause to interrogate me further."

"Oh, come now, Oakley," Jack said with a condescending smile. "You know I wouldn't be here if I didn't have proof. There's no point in feigning your innocence any further. It will only make it harder for your family."

"What proof could you possibly have against an innocent man?" Charlie snapped, giving Herb one last desperate glance.

"Well, to let the truth be known, Charlie, I don't have any proof at all... in _my_ possession. But my assistant does." At this, he turned to Herb, whose complexion became as white as a sheet. "I think it's my turn to let you all in on a little secret. Mr. Hawkins has been working for me as an undercover assistant, looking for clues that would tie in Mr. Oakley to the murder cases. I thought at the time that it was a long shot, but Mr. Hawkins has proven himself to be a capable detective. So... without any further delay..." Jack gestured for Herb to rise and present his proof. Herb, however, remained seated and silent. "Hawkins," he called, attempting to control the anxiety in his tone. "I said that you can present your proof now." Herb grasped his pocket, a paper crinkling within it. But as much as he wished to do so, he simply could not convince himself to present it.

"I was wrong," he heard himself whisper.

Jack's eyes widened in disbelief as he tapped the back of Charles' chair in a rather annoying fashion."Come on, Hawkins. This isn't the time to joke. Tell us what you found. I want to know- That is, _we_ want to know."

"I was mistaken, Mr. Graham. It's not... That is..." Herb's stuttering always tended to rear its ugly head when people were glaring at him. "I... I mean... Oakley's not your man."

The room fell into ominous silence. "Hawkins..." Jack urged with a tone of surprise. "But you assured me that you had proof that-"

"I made a mistake. I've told you. I'm sorry for the embarrassment on your part."

"Perhaps," Charlie began, watching with satisfaction as Jack began to fidget nervously, still standing uncomfortably close to Charles. "This wouldn't be so embarrassing for you if you hadn't chosen to make this all so personal."

"Mr. Graham," Emma began with an air of poorly constrained frustration. "How could you come into this house and accuse my poor, defenseless baby brother of such a horrible crime without a single shred of evidence? Not only is it hurtful and slanderous, but it's completely unprofessional."

"Mrs. Newton, my assistant here, as well as the evidence surrounding the crimes assured me that-"

"And _I_ am assuring you that he couldn't hurt a fly! Why, he's as innocent now as he was the day he was born!"

Herb came close to muttering something along the lines of, "That's one evil baby," but managed to restrain himself before it slipped , Jack thought deeply, uncertain of how he could pacify Emma's temper. As he thought, Charles, aided by his infamous charming grin, was more than willing to relight her fury.

"I have a fairly good idea of why he might try to slander my name, Emmy." Everyone, including Jack, fixed their attention on Charles, waiting anxiously for him to elaborate. "You might not have noticed, but as it turns out, Mr. Graham's a rather paranoid fellow. He trusts no one… including his fiancé spending time with her favorite uncle."

Emma stared in confusion. "Well, what's there to worry about? Mr. Graham, do you honestly think that my brother could hurt Charlie? He loves her more than anything in the world."

Jack scoffed. "Yes, _I know_."

Emma stared at him, her eyebrows arched. "Ah!" Charles exclaimed with feigned delight. "You see? There's proof right there. He never trusted Charlie and me… He certainly wouldn't want us alone together." Charlie glanced at him nervously, but his calm expression assured her that he knew exactly what he was doing. It took Emma a while before she comprehended the subtext of his last statement, but when at last she finally did so, her mouth dropped open in absolute revulsion.

"That's absurd!" she exclaimed, finally beginning to lose control over her emotions. "That's disgusting! It's horrible! She's his _niece_! How dare you create such lies aimed at destroying not only my brother's but my daughter's reputation as well?"

"Mrs. Newton," Jack began, his voice quaking. "If you would just listen to me-"

"I don't want to listen to you! Are you going to try to convince me that my own daughter has fallen in love with my brother? Do you have some kind of _proof_ supporting this?"

"Well, no. Not exactl-"

"Oh, I know," she interrupted with a slightly disturbing laugh. "Probably your 'proof' of this can be found wherever you found the 'proof' of my brother's criminal past!" As Emma said this, Herb clutched the letter with a nervous grin, finding this statement to be amusing in an ironic sort of way.

"That's why he broke his engagement to Charlie," Charles explained, glancing over his shoulder with cruel satisfaction at Jack, who was becoming more and more frazzled. "We didn't want to have to tell you that, Emmy. But he's given us no choice."

"What kind of a sick, hideous person would think such a dreadful thing about two such perfectly innocent people?" Emma exclaimed angrily. An echo of poorly controlled laughter came from the hallway, which only Charlie noticed. Attempting to remain inconspicuous, Charlie slowly cocked her head towards the hall only to find Ann jutting her head into the living room, no longer attempting to remain concealed.

Jack didn't have an idea of how he should reply to all of these accusations. He was far past the point of being able to defend himself. Still hovering over Charles, he stared down at him, using all the mental strength he possessed to refrain from beating the snide grin off of his face.

Furiously clutching hishat, Jack stormed towards the door. "You're _all_ ignoramuses! Except the two of you," he added sharply, pointing a finger first at Charles and then at Charlie. "You'll both be very happy together, I'm sure. That is, until he gets tired of you and decides to add your name to his list of victims! And _you_!" He turned furiously to Herb. "You and your mystery books and far-fetched dreams of detective work! You wouldn't know a strangler if he had his cold, gangly fingers around your throat. And even if you did catch him, something tells me that you wouldn't have the nerve to lock him away. After all, you _might_ hurt someone's feelings!" Opening the door, he took one last look at the group of people he had learned to detest. "Don't worry about me anymore. I assure you that I'm more than happy to abandon the case. That may please you now, but when Charlie suddenly turns up dead, don't even _think_ of coming to me about it."

Slamming the door behind him, he swiftly made his way to his car, hoping that he would never have the misfortune of returning.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter 32**_

As soon as Jack departed, the Newton's living room was left in a painful silence that caused Charlie's ears to ring. No one dared to move for fear of disrupting the somber atmosphere. Finally, Charles (who always had the talent of recovering from these sorts of situations with speedy composure) rose from his chair and moved towards the hall, causing Ann to frantically crawl under a table.

"I'm feeling rather hungry," he said calmly.

"Charles," Emma called, rising from the sofa, suddenly struck with a sense of panic.

"Now, Emmy," he murmured, gently grasping her shoulders with a consoling smile. "There's no need to worry any more. It's all over now. Graham was the only one who had any personal connection with the case. Any other detective would be more than happy to label the case as unsolvable. It's all over."

Emma mumbled something inaudible, wiping the tears from her eyes. "That's why you never wrote, isn't it? You were hiding. You were afraid to come back because of him!"

Holding Emma to him, Charles glanced towards Charlie, who usually had a hard time controlling her emotions when her mother wept. This time, however, she remained perfectly composed.

Standing slowly, Herb timidly crossed to Emma and awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Newton… If you could ever forgive me… I … meant no harm… I just saw the opportunity to do what I've always dreamt of doing. I guess I wasn't thinking of anyone other than myself. Apparently I'm not that good at it anyway."

"On the contrary, Herbie!" Charles exclaimed delightfully. "You did an excellent job. You saved an innocent man from a life behind bars."

Herb glanced up at him, pained by guilt. "Did I?"

Suppressing the urge to give Herb one of his dark, ominous expressions, Charles continued consoling Emma for a few minutes before delicately pulling away and leading her back to the sofa.

"Everything's fine, Emmy," he said warmly, gently patting her face. He gave Charlie a subtle glance signaling for her to follow him. As he strolled down the hallway, he saw Ann scrambling under the table, promptly knocking her head against the table leg. "Lose something under there?" he asked with a teasing smile, ignoring her glare as he crossed to the kitchen.

After several minutes, Charlie quietly excused herself from the living room and raced towards the kitchen excitedly. When she entered, she found him lighting his cigar.

"I know your mother prefers it when I smoke outside, but-" Before he could finish his statement, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss him with a surprising amount of force for someone so small. After a minute, he was finally able to pull away from her. "That's rather dangerous, Charlie."

At this, she glanced at the door, paranoid. "You're right. If someone came in, it would destroy all of your story's credibility."

"That," he added, eying his cigar. "And you could have caught yourself on fire."

She smiled and began to laugh excitedly. "I don't even care. I'm just so happy! You're safe now. I don't have to worry anymore. We can go away. Maybe you can show me around the world. We can travel and you can show me all of the places you visited when you were younger."

"The world isn't always a pleasant place, Charlie," he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair.

"No it isn't. But it will be a much better place as long as you're not being taken away." This conversation was soon interrupted by a nervous cough coming from the doorway. "Oh," Charlie began cautiously. "Herb, I..."

"You have my gratitude, Herbie," Charles said, trying to ease the awkwardness. "To say the least."

His hands shaking, Herb gently pulled the crumpled letter from his pocket and stared down at it for several minutes before gaining the courage to speak. Charlie watched him anxiously while Charles placed the cigar in his mouth.

"I'm keeping this," Herb said at last. "I'm keeping it as proof. If I ever hear a word about you being mixed up with any further crimes, I'll take it to the police." The room became quiet as Herb regathered his confidence in order to continue. "I know that all you have to do is kill me… And if you do end up doing so… I won't be able to do anything about it, I suppose."

"I'm surprised that you trust me that much," Charles said, gently pulling Charlie towards him.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," Herb admitted, pushing the letter back into his pocket. "I guess you both did a good job at convincing me that you deserve to be free… You and your niece."

"She's not my niece," Charles said intensely.

"Oh… I forgot. For some mysterious reason, she's not really your niece."

"We're so grateful, Herb," Charlie said warmly, patting his shoulder. "And I assure you that you'll never need to use that letter against anyone."

Herb thought for a moment, his arm tingling where she had patted him. "For your sake, Charlie, I really hope you're right," he said quietly, a melancholy expression upon his face. After suffering through several seconds of awkward silence, Herb at last turned towards the door, leaving them to quietly celebrate their victory.

Approaching the front door, Herb noticed Joe out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms with an unpleasant scowl upon his face. Nervously approaching him, Herb gently shrugged his shoulders.

"I hope you're not angry with me," he mumbled quietly. Joe sat in a chair and lifted a novel, refusing to acknowledge Herb's existence. Herb took another step in his direction. "I know I betrayed you and your family. I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."

Joe did not respond.

Herb was at last becoming irritable. "Well, Joe! Your wife was nice enough to forgive me and it was _her_ _brother_ I was trying to put away for life! The least you can do is yell at me or something!"

Leaping from his chair, Joe stormed towards Herb and promptly bludgeoned him with his murder mystery novel. Herb yelped in shock and pain.

"Some detective you turned out to be! What kind of a sleuth 'makes mistakes' with his evidence and forgets to tell his colleagues? That's a cardinal sin in detective work. Any half-brained idiot knows that!"

"I know, but-"

"And what's even worse than that is the fact that you didn't tell _me_!" Joe exclaimed, giving Herb another smack with the book. "I could have been far more helpful that you were. I was living with the suspect!"

"You?" Herb gasped indignantly. "You're his brother-in-law! You might be a _little_ biased!"

"It was my one chance to do some real life detective work and you kept it from me. You kept all the fun for yourself!"

Herb rolled his eyes in frustration. "How could this case have been beneficial for you? Can you imagine having to live with your wife after sending her precious baby brother to the electric chair?" Herb flinched, expecting another blow from the novel.

Joe thought about this for a moment. "Well… all right. You have a point. But-"

"And I guarantee," Herb continued sharply, "that there are certain facts about your brother-in-law that you would _never_ want to know." Herb suppressed a grimace as he recalled the rather awkward embrace he witnessed earlier as he approached the kitchen. "Face it, Joe. You have too many personal connections to the case. You might have invalidated our detective work."

Joe sat quietly, too stubborn to admit that Herb had a point. "Fine," he said stiffly, lifting his novel back to his eyes. "But as long as we're keeping things from each other… I guess I don't have to take you to the murder mystery festival that's coming next month."

Herb stared at him, pain-stricken. "All right," he mumbled quietly. "If that's how you feel, I guess-"

"Tickets are fifty cents a piece. It's coming on the third and starts at seven o'clock," Joe gushed, too excited over the prospect of going to hold any grudge against his one and only friend. "I think we should get there by six. You never know how crowded it will be."

"Uh… Joe," Herb began hesitantly, not wanting to annoy him further, yet feeling compelled to make another point. "Last year we got there at six and by the time the festival ended, only two other people had arrived, one of whom was an infant." Joe shot him a ferocious glare. "…A… _sleeping_ infant…" The glaring continued. "All right! All right!" Herb said, attempting to pacify his bad humor. "We'll get there at six."

"Five-thirty."

"Five-thirty!" Herb exclaimed. "But you don't even get out of work until-"

"We're leaving at five and we'll be there at five-thirty. That's final!"

"All right!" Herb snapped. "Five-thirty it is."

Joe smiled in contentment as Herb huffily crossed to the door. "Don't forget your magnifying glass!"


	33. Chapter 33

**_Chapter 33_**

Gently grasping the handrail as she ascended the stairs, Emma tottered a tray of water, trying with little success to avoid spilling any onto the steps. She had managed to calm herself to some degree since Mr. Graham departed; yet her hands were still shaking.

She knew in her mind that everything he had said was a hurtful lie. Was her baby brother a heartless murderer? Ridiculous! Was her oldest daughter having an affair with her baby brother? Absurd! Though, she admitted to herself, there technically would not be anything unacceptable about the match, had some other family taken him in as a child. She had to wonder at times what exactly caused the deep bond between them. It had been that way ever since Charlie was a little girl. The bond only seemed to strengthen with time. Once Charlie asked her this very question. At the time, Emma was no more aware of the truth than Charlie was and had told her, in her ignorance, that it had something to do with genetics. But ever since Emma learned the truth about her brother's origins, she had been completely mystified by the inexplicable connection between the two of them.

As for the false charge of his being a murderer… It almost made her laugh to think of it… Almost.

Crossing to his bedroom door, she gently knocked on it, surprised to be greeted by Charlie, who was carrying a large pile of clothing.

"Mother!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking. She grinned nervously. "I'm sorry. You startled me."

"I was just going to bring your uncle some water."

"Oh," Charlie mumbled, reluctant to let her mother pass her.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Before she could respond, Charles opened the door a little wider to reveal the entire bedroom. Random articles of clothing and luggage were scattered over the bed and furniture.

"I didn't want to have to tell you now, Emmy," he said with a grin that automatically reflected (in a somewhat weaker form) onto her own face. "I was hoping we might enjoy our last evening together."

Her smile immediately faded. "Last evening?"

"Yes, Mother," Charlie said quietly. "We're leaving on the eleven o'clock train tomorrow morning."

"Both of you?" Emma asked, bewildered.

"Yes," Charlie said quietly but firmly. "I'm not a child anymore. And… I certainly can't stay living with my family forever in a small town. I love you all. Never worry about that. But I want to travel and see things. And who would be a better person to show me everything than my dear Uncle Charlie?"

Emma stared in silence for several minutes before speaking. "I know he'll take very good care of you," she said weakly. "It's just…It's all so sudden." Watching her closely, Charles detected that she was not looking at either of them. Her eyes seemed to be focused on the various objects placed upon the bed.

"Yes it is," Charlie began nervously. "But… as I said, Uncle Charlie will take care of me… It's not as though anything Jack said were true."

"No," Emma repeated quietly. "It… Couldn't be true." As soon as she heard herself say this, she forced her eyes up to her brother. "That is… Well, I know it's not true. I… never doubted it." Her tone was somewhat less than convincing.

Feeling herself beginning to cave under the pressure, Charlie slid past her mother, her clothing in one hand and her suitcase in the other. "I'll just take this into Ann's room." Charles smiled at Emma, chuckling at her queer expression, and patting her face gently before returning his attention to his belongings on the bed. Suddenly, he had a vague suspicion of what might be causing Emma to tremble. In order to find out if his suspicion was correct, he gently lifted a small, seemingly insignificant object from the bed and placed it in his suitcase. As soon as he did so, he heard a poorly constrained gasp come from the doorway. Forcing yet another charming (yet slightly disconcerting) grin upon his lips, he turned his eyes to her.

"What's wrong, Emmy?" he asked innocently. "There's no reason to be afraid… After all… It's only an old cigar box… Isn't it?"

After a moment, she weakly nodded her head. "Yes… Of course that's all it is… Just an old… cigar box… The funny thing is… I have one just like it… In the attic, I think."

His teeth gleaming under the light of a nearby lamp, he slowly crossed to the door, giving her hand a soft squeeze before taking the tray of water and shutting her out of the room.


	34. Chapter 34

**_Chapter 34_**

The next day at 10:50 in the morning, the entire Newton family, accompanied by Herb Hawkins, made their way to the train station, only to discover that the eleven o'clock train was delayed approximately twenty minutes.

Ann, who, for the first time in many years, had forgotten to bring a novel with her, found herself becoming progressively bored. Though she normally would take this opportunity to mercilessly tease Charlie and 'Osborne", she felt as thought this could be dangerous with her mother there. As far as Ann was concerned, her mother knew and suspected nothing.

Since tormenting her favorite relatives was currently not an option, she slowly strolled towards Herb, who was squirming awkwardly, unsure of why he had decided to join them on their trip to the train station. He glanced down at her, surprised that she was giving him her attention.

"Hello, Ann," he said quietly.

She jumped onto the ledge on which Herb was leaning. He glanced up at her, expecting her to begin a conversation. However, she remained silent.

He cleared his throat. "Well… Your sister seems pleased to be going away."

Ann made a slight groan of disgust. "Yes, she hasn't stopped grinning for the past twenty-four hours."

"It's… nice that your uncle is taking her to see more of the world."

Ann grinned deviously. "He's just as pleased as she is about the trip, I suspect."

Herb glanced at her suspiciously. "I hope you're not jealous." She rapidly turned her eyes to him, her mouth gaping open.

"Ha!" she exclaimed. "She can keep his love all for herself!" As soon as she said this, she realized that she had said too much. Reading each other's somewhat flabbergasted expressions, it became obvious to both of them that the former knew just as much about the situation as the latter. "How on earth could you-" Ann began, cutting herself off before she announced the shocking news to the entire train station.

"I might ask you the same question," he mumbled, becoming excited. "I know because… I'm a detective."

"Oh please!" she said. "Some detective. You briefly thought my uncle was a murderer! Perhaps he isn't very good at respecting family boundaries, but he couldn't kill anyone. He's too fussy. He'd probably be afraid of getting his hands dirty."

Herb decided not to comment.

With yet another devious smile, Ann returned her eyes to Charlie. "That's quite a nice ring Charlie's wearing, isn't it?" Squinting, Herb perceived an inconspicuous golden band on Charlie's left ring finger, which Charlie was grasping at nervously.

"I didn't even notice it," Herb said, rather dumbfounded.

"Of course you didn't. That's why you're only an _amateur _detective," she said, her nose pointed up in the air.

Herb scoffed. "You're only thirteen years old! How skilled could you possibly be? I've been studying detective work for years."

"Nevertheless," she began with a cool grin. "I noticed the ring. You didn't. He left the house rather early this morning. I suspect that's when he sneaked off to the jeweler's. Let's hope he gets an adoption reversal before they set a date."

"Oh…" Herb said, completely enlightened at last. "He's adopted. Finally someone explains it to me."

"Yes," Ann mumbled. "But don't talk about it… to anyone."

Before this conversation could continue, they heard Charles announce that he could see the train coming. They approached the rest of the group, each one feigning an expression of innocence.

"Don't miss us too much, Emmy," Charles said as Emma wrapped her arms around both of them, tears quivering in the corners of her eyes.

"It's bad enough that you're leaving, Charles," she said, stifling the tears. "But now Charlie's leaving too."

"We'll be back, Mother," Charlie said soothingly.

"I know, dear. I know you'll come back." As Charles shook Joe's hand, Charlie hugged Roger and Emma dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

Not wishing to create a scene, Charlie avoided saying a word to her sister. But as she bent down to squeeze her, Ann, in a sickening tone, said, "I love your new ring, Charlie." Charlie's body immediately stiffened as she heard this. To Ann's surprise, Charlie only responded with a small grin, as though she were displaying gratitude for all the sadistic acts Ann had committed in order to not only torment her, but also to help her find what she wanted and needed. "Farewell, Osborne," Ann whispered as Charles patted her face in his typically charming, somewhat condescending manner.

"Good bye, Charlie. I sincerely wish you the best of luck," Herb said quietly, holding out his hand to her. Rather than taking it, she wrapped her arms around his neck, causing him to tremble like a small rabbit.

"Thank you, Herb," she mumbled. "But I won't need it."

"I give you my word that she'll be quite safe in my care," Charles said calmly, forcibly taking Herb's hand, whether he liked it or not.

"I really do hope so," Herb muttered.

As they boarded the train, Herb watched as they cried out their final farewells before closing the door behind them. Slowly, the train traveled away from Santa Rosa, a new ray of hope shining upon the somewhat unconventional, yet undeniably happy couple.


	35. Chapter 35

**_Chapter 35 (Alternate Ending)_**

The train ride's pleasant, tranquil beginning soon came to an abrupt, tragic halt.

************************************************************************

Clad in a morose suit of black, Herb Hawkins trudged up the steps to the Newtons' residence. He hoped, rather than believed, that the expression of guilt upon his face could be passed off as a look of mourning. It was his fault, wasn't it? The last time he entered this house, he had seen both Charles and Charlotte, looking as pleased and excited as ever before. But now, as he entered the grief-stricken house, he knew that one of them would be ominously missing. He should have turned Oakley in before when he was given the opportunity. Certainly it would have hurt the family. But at least there wouldn't have been an 'accident', as they had all been told.

According to the official story, when the two of them boarded the train, Charles had closed the door carelessly. As the train gained speed the door swung open. They were both standing unusually close to the door. And then… The police did not feel the need to go into details.

Obviously Emma became hysterical as soon as she heard the news. Herb hoped that she would be in control today. He understood that losing such a close relative must be devastating. But watching her grieve made it all the more difficult for him to remain silent. He wished that the surviving witness who had boarded the train with the 'victim' might speak up. But as soon as Herb opened the door, he knew that this was not likely to happen.

Though Herb and Emma had never been particularly intimate, as soon as she perceived him standing nervously in the doorway, she crossed to him, squeezing him tightly as though by doing so, she could gain the strength she needed to raise the dead. She stared at the top of the staircase, wishing that her loved one might stroll down the stairs as thought this had all been one horrific nightmare.

There was a Charlie standing at the top of the stairs, but for once it was not the Charlie that Emma desperately wished to hold. Herb did not particularly wish to see him either.

"Emmy," Charles whispered soothingly, pulling her away from Herb and into his arms.

"Lucky thing that you brought a black suit," Herb said quietly, trying to keep control.

"Lucky isn't how I'd put it," Charles said with a feigned air of disgust.

Glancing down, Herb noticed Ann huddled under a table, her face buried in her lap as she gently rocked back and forth. For the first time since Herb met her, she looked like a sad, frightened child. Being a quiet observer, she doubtlessly had heard Jack Graham's 'rumors' about her uncle's notorious past. He stared at her with pity. She was a smart little thing. She knew the truth about this monster just as much as he did. And like Herb, she was in no position to cross Oakley, unless she wanted the same fate as her sister. As soon as Charles led Emma to the kitchen, Herb kneeled down, uncertain of whether or not he should comfort her. After several moments, she lifted her tear-stained face to him.

"I should have known," she whispered. "I always knew there was something off about him. I thought he was after Charlie. I thought he was in love with her. I never thought that he might actually…" Her words trailed off as she buried her face in her hands.

"I was deceived too," Herb said, not wanting to admit the entire truth to her. "But listen to me. You can't say a word to anyone. I know you loved her… I did too… But you have to protect yourself. Do you hear me, Ann?"

Without looking up, Ann slowly nodded her head. "I'll never say a word." Herb gently patted her hand, giving it a squeeze before rising.

Normally Herb was not one to use liquid courage. But there was a conversation that he knew he must have with Oakley as soon as possible and there was no way he could go through with it unless he helped himself to a glass of wine first. Suddenly, as he lifted the glass to his lips, he felt a certain pair of eyes on the back of his neck and he knew that the moment had come.

"Have a little wine for thy stomach's sake," Charles whispered, his arms crossed as he strolled towards Herb.

"You're awfully bold… Quoting the bible after all you've done," Herb mumbled, taking another sip of wine.

"Join me upstairs, Herb," Charles said calmly. "I think we should have a talk, don't you?"

Herb took another sip, his hands shaking. "Upstairs? Alone with you?"

"'Alone with you' would be somewhat contradictory, wouldn't it, Herbie? Of course, if you prefer, we could go out to the garage." Charles smiled callously and led a very reluctant Herb up the stairs. Becoming more and more agitated the further they went from the rest of the mourners, Herb glanced over his shoulder at Charles every couple of steps, nearly tripping down the stairs in the process. "Don't be frightened, Herb. I wouldn't kill you at my niece's funeral."

"I thought she wasn't your niece," Herb mumbled.

"Neither does anyone else," Charles said, leading Herb to the bedroom. "I'll give you a full explanation… Once we're totally alone."

Leading Herb into Charlie's bedroom, Charles closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment in silence, assuring that no one had followed them.

"This has all been a lie, hasn't it?" Herb asked, sitting on the bed.

"Don't act so surprised," Charles said, chuckling. "As to my 'adoption', well… Let's just say it's fairly easy to convince my family of anything. About a year ago, I sent Emma an anonymous package containing very interesting though unquestionably false information about my past. Poor Emmy. I didn't even give her an idea of who had sent it, yet, judging by subtle hints she gave me in her letters, I quickly found out that she had bought every word of it. Then all I had to do was wait. Emmy's never been one to keep a secret. I'm amazed that she was able to hide the information as long as she did. But it worked quite well. Within a year from my sending the package, I managed to convince every member of my family that I was an estranged orphan, completely ignorant of my past."

"But Emma- That is, Mrs. Newton is quite a bit older than you," Herb said. "Wouldn't she remember if-"

"Emma's dim-witted and naïve. If I had tried, I might have convinced her that I was from Mars. Causing her to question her own memory wasn't that difficult at all."

"But why?" Herb asked. "What was your point in doing this?"

"You should know better than anyone, Herbie. It was for Charlie. She had her morals, after all. I knew that the only way I could force her to face her suppressed feelings for me would be to convince her that there was nothing wrong with the attraction between us."

"Sounds like an awfully elaborate plot for such a small detail."

"It worked, didn't it?" Charles snapped. "How else was I going to get her on the train with me? I thought about finishing her off the last time I was in Santa Rosa. I tried to, twice. But finally I decided that it would be too risky. She was too suspicious. Even Emma was starting to become suspicious. But this year, everyone was completely unprepared."

"Why did you do it?" Herb asked. "What did she know?"

"Everything," Charles said simply, lifting an emerald ring from his pocket. "But now she doesn't know a thing. And I have this… Oh, I was planning on returning to Santa Rosa ever since I left two years ago. I just wanted to give the family a little time to find the information about my past. I was hoping that the secret would be out in the open before I arrived… But when I received Emmy's letter about Charlie's engagement, I knew I had to put my plans into action. For two years I had practiced over and over again in my head how I could convince her that I was a reformed sinner. 'I never wanted to hurt her', I would tell myself. 'I'm a new person'. You know, at times I almost had myself convinced… Almost. I couldn't let her marry anyone. It would ruin my original plan of seducing her. When I found out that Graham was the husband-to-be, I became even more shaken. He never trusted me. On top of destroying the engagement, I had to create a sort of enmity between the two of them that might prevent him from poking his nose into my affairs, were Charlie to have an 'accident'. As you know, that plan went smoothly without too many problems. But then you became involved. My one mistake was when I didn't take care of that letter." At this, Charles crossed to Herb, who was quivering.

"But I don't have it!" Herb cried out. "As soon as the accident occurred, I felt for it in my pocket and it was gone. Charlie must have taken it when she hugged me at the station."

"Wrong," Charles said simply. "_I_ took it when Charlie hugged you. Really, Herbie, I'm surprised you didn't figure that out. By taking it, she would have been signing her own death warrant."

"Why are you telling me this?" Herb asked. "All I can assume at this point is that you have no choice but to kill me too."

"Perhaps…" Charles mumbled. "How's that wine, Herbie? Does it taste all right?"

Herb glanced down at the glass of wine and immediately dropped it onto the floor in a state of panic. The crystal shattered and the wine splattered across the rug. "Oh my…" Herb began, breathing heavily. "You mean, you- you-"

Charles began to laugh. "Relax, Herbie. I was only joking. There's nothing wrong with your wine… Well… There _wasn't_ anything wrong with it."

Herb, weakened by his sudden burst of excitement, allowed his head to slouch down into his perspiring palms. "Just kill me now. I know you're going to eventually."

"On the contrary!" Charles exclaimed, sitting next to Herb on the bed. "I destroyed the letter. You're no threat now. In fact, I think that killing you would do more harm than good. People might get suspicious if both of you drop dead within the same week. And quite frankly, Herbie, you're no spring chicken. It would be easier for me to wait you out."

"Why should I believe you?" Herb asked. "I might not have proof of what you did, but I know the truth. You just gave me a detailed description of all that you had done. I may not have physical proof now, but in time, some clue might-"

"In time, you'll either be dead or too old to do anything about it."

"Then what about Charlie?" Herb asked. "She didn't have any physical proof, but you still felt the need to 'take care' of her."

"Haven't you been listening, Herbie?" Charles asked, lifting the emerald to his eyes. "This was her proof. It was my fault for giving it to her. But I have a strange feeling that this ring is bound to meet the same fate as that letter."

Herb had no response. He stood from the bed and slowly paced the room. Charles watched with vague amusement. "You told me all of this because… You're gloating. No… I know… You're trying to torment me with the truth, knowing full-well that I'll never be able to use it against you."

"Herbie!" Charles exclaimed with mock-pain as he lit a cigar. "That's hardly my intention. I told you because I know you're an amateur detective. You love a good murder mystery. Obviously you knew _who_ did it … But wouldn't it be cruel of me to deny you the satisfaction of finally telling you _why_ I did it and _how_ I did it? It wouldn't be a good murder mystery unless it had an equally satisfying conclusion."

"There's nothing the least bit satisfying about this conclusion."

Lifting himself from the bed, Charles crossed to the door and smoothed his hair. "As soon as you've collected your nerves, Herbie, come down and join us. You may think I'm a heartless criminal, but the truth is, this is far more difficult for me than it is for you. Do you realize how confusing it becomes when you spend your entire life masked as a strong, endearing angel, knowing all the time that you're nothing more than a vile, monstrous demon underneath? Someday the stress of it all might actually kill me."

Switching off the lamp, Charles quit the room, leaving Herb in eerie darkness.


End file.
